


When the Past Intrudes on the Present

by 1MissMolly



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas ghost story, Developing Friendships, Elizabeth the first, History, M/M, Pirates, Slow Burn, Treasure Hunting, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 41,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1MissMolly/pseuds/1MissMolly
Summary: The room was empty. The doors were locked. There was no way anyone could have snuck into the kitchen, but the wet footprints across the floor were still there. Someone or something had somehow materialized in a locked room then disappeared."Q, I know you don't want to hear this, but I think you have a ghost." Bond said staring at the footprints.Q is called by his cousin to come to her rescue when her house becomes haunted. An unusual house on an unusual Channel Island.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 156
Kudos: 137





	1. An Unwelcome Visit

The wind and the rain lashed at the windows. The flashes of lighting jumped around the blackout curtains. Martha Montford sighed. Her hopes for a white Christmas were quickly fading.

The thirty-two-year-old woman sat before the fireplace, watching the flames dance as the winter storm thrashed the Isle of Sark. She curled her legs underneath herself as she pulled the blanket up over her body. The house was warm but the sound of the storm outside made Martha shiver.

She took a sip of her hot coco and for a brief moment she admired the various Christmas decorations she had put up. The decorated Christmas tree sat in its designated corner. The same corner it had been every year since she was a child. The fairy lights twinkled between the limbs. Ornaments and beads dripped from it. The scent of oranges and cloves from the pomander balls filled the room. Evergreen garlands decorated the fireplace mantel and encircled the various pictures of her family. She even had placed tiny red and green bows on the silver framed.

Adjusting herself in the large chair, she tried to pick up where she was in the book she was reading. It was hard to concentrate with the storm outside. The wind moaning around her house and the booms of the thunder.

After losing her place in the story for the third time, she sighed again and set the book down. Instead she concentrated on the fire. Watching it flicker and dance across the wood. It crackled and hissed. It lulled Martha into a drowsy mood. She tilted her head against the edge of the chair and let her mind wander. Thoughts of her childhood and Christmases past. Her family. Her dead brother.

There was an audible click and Martha jolted upright in the chair. The electric lights were out. Only the glow from the fireplace illuminated the room.

 _‘Storm must have knocked out the power grid.’_ Martha thought to herself.

If the power weren’t restored soon, the house would be cold in the morning when she got up. Martha decide to check on the Aga cooker in the kitchen. The giant old stove could provide minimal heat to the house and keep the kitchen warm for breakfast.

Regretfully, Martha tossed the warm blanket off herself and carefully negotiated the dark room. She opened the door to the kitchen and was suddenly struck by how cold it was in the room. The kitchen door swung shut and she was left in complete darkness. A flash of blinding white light told her the blackout curtains over the sink were open. Something she would never have done. She glanced over at the windows and another distant flash of lighting lit up the countryside.

Then she saw him. Outside the window. A shape of a man. Hunched in the shoulders and crooked in his frame. He was there but he wasn’t. It as if he were ephemeral. Translucent. A shadow of something real. Martha could see through him. The fence and the distant trees were visible through the body.

Another flash of lighting and the vision was gone. Martha’s heart was pounding. Suddenly, she notice her breath was fogging the room. It was so cold in the kitchen that she could actually see her breath. She wrapped her arms around her body and began to shake with both fear and cold. The hairs on her arms began to rise as every emotion intensified.

Then she heard a sound. A breath or a whisper. Soft and surrounding her. She twisted around looking. It was complete darkness. She bare could make out the room. The sound became louder and audible.

“Get out. Get out. Get out!”

Another flash of lighting and the dark corners of the kitchen became visible. The image of the man was standing in the corner of the room. His face deeply lined with wrinkles. His thin white hair sparce across his almost bald head.

“GET OUT!” he shouted.

Martha fled the kitchen and then her house. She ran out into the storm more afraid of the specter in her kitchen than the deadly storm outside.

~Q~

The temperatures in London had dipped below freezing. Ice clung to the edges of the Thames. The cold had pushed the car exhaust and smoke down and the air was acrid to breath. But there was no prediction of snow this Christmas. The sky was crystal clear and pale blue. Not even a cloud to give the impression of winter weather.

James Bond was grateful for his cashmere wool coat and lamb skin gloves as he walked into MI6. His exposed skin burned with the frigid wind that was blowing up the river. His cheeks and forehead were red with the cold.

He had planned on being someplace warm this winter. A trip to the Bahamas or Maldives. He wanted to swim in warm water and lay on a beach soaking up the sun. The cold made his bones ache. Too many injures over the years had left him with reminders as the barometer dropped.

He walked into the lobby of MI6 and up to the security check point. He handed over his identification to the guard who gave it a cursory glance before running it though a card reader. The guard handed it back to Bond with a half hearted ‘Happy holidays’.

Bond winced. Political correctness had reached MI6.

Pulling off his gloves, he pressed the button for the lifts. He needed to check in with Tanner before he could make the final arrangements for his holiday. The doors opened, revealing the Quartermaster within.

Q’s head was down and reading his tablet. Bond noticed he was wearing a pair of forest green trousers and a grey cardigan over a white shirt. Pinned to his cardigan was a garish reproduction of a reindeer with a bright red nose. Small bells hung on the reindeer’s antlers and it wore a green harness.

Bond stared at the ridiculous pin, blocking the doors from closing. When the warning bell started to ring and the car wasn’t moving, Q finally looked up to see Bond standing there.

“Oh – 007, hello. Are you going up?”

“Maybe. When did you start dressing as an eight-year-old girl?”

“What?” Q asked confused.

Bond pointed to the pin. Q smiled. “It’s a Q Branch tradition.”

“Tradition?”

“Yes, every Christmas we wear something from one of our favorite Christmas stories. Last year I wore the Snowman.”

“Am I supposed to know who the Snowman is?” Bond asked as he stepped into the lift and doors closed.

“Raymond Brigg’s the Snowman. I would watch it with my cousins while our parents wrapped presents.”

“And who is that?” He pointed to the pin again.

“Rudolph”

“Rudolph? Who is Rudolph?”

“You’re joking, right. Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer? What did you do as a child?” Suddenly, Q realized he had misspoke. “Oh, sorry.” Q whispered.

“Obviously, not a lot of telly.” Bond said as the doors of the lift opened on the executive floor.

“Yes, well – quite. There is nothing on the threat board. Are you here for a meeting?” Q tried to shift the conversation and hide his embarrassment.

“No, making sure my time off is not interrupted by Tanner or Mallory.”

Q nodded his head just as his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked down at the name. A bright smile came to his face.

“Excuse me, Bond.” Q said as he pressed the receive button and held the phone up to ear. “Martha, my love. Merry Christmas.”

Bond had understood the Quartermaster to be gay. The greeting was somewhat counter to that assumption. He watched as Q listened to the person on the other end of the phone. Suddenly, Q’s face darkened and he frowned.

“Are you safe? Are you alright now?”

Bond hesitated for a moment.

“You sure you weren’t dreaming or something?”

Bond could hear the person on the on the other end of the phone start to shout. It was a woman. She was very angry.

“Alright, alright. I’m on my way. I’ll call you when I leave Saint Peter.” Q disconnected the call. He stared down at the phone in his hand.

“Trouble?” Bond asked.

Q looked up at him. “I – I don’t know. I need to speak to Tanner. Do you mind if I talk to him first. This is an emergency. A family – situation.”

“No, go right ahead, Q. Is there anything I can do?”

Q looked confused for a moment. “I don’t – no thank you, Bond. I think I need to deal with this myself.”

Q rushed down the hall, leaving Bond to wonder what Martha had said to make his normally unflappable Quartermaster so flustered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never visited the Isle of Sark but have only read about it. It sounds like a remarkable place. It is one of the few places left in the world that bans cars. Only tractors and horse drawn carts are allowed. It is also the first "Dark Sky Island" in the world and one of only a handful of 'Dark Sky Communities'. It also is considered to be the last recognized feudal communities in the world. With laws dating back to the Norman conquest. Although, those laws are now being changed and the island is compliance with the European Convention of Human Rights.  
> The photographs of the island are beautiful and the island is full of history going back over two thousand years to the Romans. There were pirates and Queen Elizabeth the First and Nazi occupation and William the Conqueror. Quite remarkable for a place less than 3 square miles.


	2. Something Went Bump in the Night

The small commuter plane landed at Guernsey Airport. It had taken Q almost a day to arrange the trip to the small Channel Island. Most of that time was taken up with trying to convince both Mallory and Tanner it was necessary for him to leave. Q took the shuttle from the airport to the small port city of Saint Peter. There he caught the near empty ferry over to Sark. As he sat down on the bench of the ferry he called his cousin, Martha Montford, and let her know he was on his way.

The winter waves knocked the small boat back and forth as it traveled between the two islands. The trade winds were cold and brought white caps on the blue water. Q sat inside the ferry and watched as the island came into sight. The ferry traveled around the northside of the small island and Q could see the waves slap into the granite cliffs. There were no good beaches on this side of the island. The cliffs dropping straight into the English Channel.

The ferry boat rounded the island and Q could see the small boats nestled in the harbors on the east side of the island. The ferry pulled up to the dock as men tossed lines over to be tied. Just as Q stepped off the boat, his cousin pulled up in her pony trap.

Q waved and quickly went over to the two-wheel cart.

“Not a lot of visitors this time of year.” Q said as he climbed in the back of the trap.

“Only scientists over at the observatory.” Martha said. She reached over and hugged Q as he sat down. “I’ve missed you, Ricky. Thank you for coming. I’m so frightened. I don’t what to do. If you hadn’t . . .”

“It’s all right. We’ll figure this out.” He patted her back as he returned her hug. “Let’s just get home and see what’s changed.”

Martha had fled her home two nights before and hadn’t returned. She had spent the night at the local hotel waiting for her cousin to arrive.

“Malcom, the vingtenier, went over and said everything looked normal but I was still too afraid to return.” Martha said.

“Malcom? Do I know him?” Q asked. He remembered that the vingtenier was the equivalent to a deputy constable.

Sark Island maintained its Medieval traditions even after World War II. The island enforced primogeniture laws until 2008. Q was relieved when he learned his cousin would inherit the family home instead of himself. He had no desire to live on Sark.

“He was from the northside of the island. His father still lives there although his brother and sister have left.”

Q had spent many of his childhood summers on Sark. Q’s parents had brought him to the island at the end of Spring term. His father, a professor of Medieval history, spent the summer months searching the island for Norman ruins and relics, while Q swam in the waters of the southern beaches and played in the fields with his cousins.

“He offered to stay with me at the house until you got here, but . . .” She hesitated and blushed slightly. “Well, you know. Smaller the island, faster the rumors travel. I just couldn’t be there alone.”

“Martha, it can’t be as bad as all that. You love the house.” Q said as the hackney pony trotted up Harbor Hill and into the small cluster of houses and shops. The bells from St. Peter’s church were ringing out the hour as the pony trap headed south towards the isthmus.

“Did you recognize the man?” Q asked.

“You mean ghost.” Martha glared back.

“Martha, it couldn’t be a ghost. Be reasonable. It was more than likely a neighbor that came to the house in the storm. He may have thought you needed help in the storm. Or wanted to know if your power was on. I need to get your generator working again.”

“I haven’t needed that generator in years. And it wasn’t a neighbor. I know my neighbors. It was a ghost!”

The cart rattled across the concrete road on the spine of the isthmus that connected the island to its smaller neighbor. The wind picked up and buffeted against the people in the trap.

The two didn’t try to speak as they rode across the narrow strip of land. The wind blew intensely across the isthmus and made it difficult to be heard. Once the pony trap was over the road and back into the farmlands of the Little Sark, Martha spoke.

“I’m sorry if I’ve pulled you away from your family at Christmas.”

“Don’t worry. Mum and Dad will be busy with his students. I wasn’t even planning on going up to Cambridge this year.”

“Did you have plans in London?” Martha asked.

“No, I was just going to sleep in late and then share a tin of tuna with the cats and listen to the Queen.”

“Sounds dismal, Ricky. Stay here – with me.”

“For Christmas? Here on Sark?” Q looked around as the cart rattled down the road. “Don’t you have, I don’t know, someone else you want to spend the holidays with?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, I mean no.” Q looked flustered. “There is someone who I’m interested in but he isn’t interested in me.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence. The small pony cart rattling down the roads until they came to the turn off for the Montford farm. The horse trotted the rest of the way to the barn. Q helped Martha unhook the cart from the harness and carefully maneuvered it into its shed. Martha busied herself with untacking the horse and brushing him out. Then she walked the horse over to the paddock gate and set the horse free into the fenced area.

Carrying his suitcase, Q and Martha walked up to the main house on her property. Q looked around at the grounds surrounding the two-story house. The winter pastures were brown and bare. The trees were grey without their leaves. The wind was coming from the east and twisting the branches. Making them groan. It was a very lonely place and he wondered why his young cousin still loved it there.

They walked around the gravel drive and saw the front door of the house open. Q grabbed Martha’s elbow and held her back. He twisted his backpack around and was reaching into it when a burly man in his late fifties walked out of the house.

He was tall and broad in the chest. His body carried several extra pounds of weight but underneath that fat were hard earned muscles. His face was florid from years spent in the wind and weather of the small island. His clothes were those of a workman. A heavy cotton shirt under a cable wool jumper. His heavy canvas trousers were tucked into the tops of Wellies that were covered in muck. He looked like a farmer.

“Frédéric!” Martha yelped. “What are you doing here?”

Frédéric was munching on an apple. His wide jaw rotated as he chewed. Q and Martha waited as he swallowed.

“You called about an intruder.” Bits of macerated apple were spewed out as he spoke. “I came right over.”

“That was two days ago.”

Frédéric simple shrugged his shoulders, “I was busy with my pigs.” He took another bite of apple.

Martha sighed. “Ricky, this is Frédéric. He is the Connétable. Frédéric, this is my cousin, Rick Bishop, from London.”

The police officer looked suspiciously at Q. “The German?”

“No, the Englishman.” Q said sharply.

Frédéric kept looking doubtfully at the younger man.

Another man came out of the house. He was younger and fitter than the Connétable. He wore a heavy wool coat with an emblem of a red and white flag. Two yellow lions were blazon in the upper left corner of the flag on the field of red. It was the flag of Sark. The man’s name was under the flag. Malcom Grant. And under that was his title, Vingtenier.

He saw Martha and immediately asked, “Martha, where have you been?”

He seemed anxious.

“At the hotel. Did you find anything?”

“Your back door was standing open.” Malcom said. Then he looked at Q. He too, suddenly became suspicious of the visitor. “Who are you?”

“Rick Bishop. I’m Martha’s cousin.” Q held his hand out and Malcom hesitated before taking it and shaking it firmly.

“He’s from London.” Frédéric said as a warning.

Old memories of prejudice and distrust returned to Q.

Malcom looked confused at Frédéric for a moment then laughed. “We are part of the Great Britain, Frédéric. Have been since 1066.”

“I don’t like foreigners.” Frédéric hissed as he tossed the apple core over into the flower bed in front of the house.

Martha frowned, knowing she would have to retrieve it later and dispose of it properly.

“You said something about the back door?” Q asked.

“Yea, standing wide open. You need to be more careful, Martha.” Frédéric said.

“But I am. It was closed. Locked.” Martha replied.

“You must’f made a mistake.” Frédéric snorted then spat out a large glob of mucus onto the ground between the four people.

Malcom frowned as he looked down at the glob. Q was becoming even more frustrated. Martha looked like she was about to start crying.

“I didn’t,” she whined. “I know what I saw.”

Q wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Look, let’s go inside and let me fix you a cup of tea. Then we’ll figure out what happened. You said there was a storm. The wind could have blown the door open, or maybe it was a neighbor who came over to check on you or something like that.”

“I . . . Just,” she frowned and leaned into Q. “Alright.”

Malcom stepped forward. “Do you want me to stay with you, Martha.”

Frédéric grunted and rolled his eyes, but Martha and Malcom ignored him. Only Q caught the man’s insinuations.

“No, no. Ricky’s here now. He’ll help me.” Martha sighed and walked away from the three men and back into her house. Leaving Q outside with the two policemen.

“Well?” Q asked. “No sign of a break in or someone tampering with the locks?”

Frédéric sneered. “That is something that would only happen in London. Not here where good people live.”

Q glared back. “That is something that happens everywhere. London, Dover, and Sark. Any strangers on the island right now?”

“Only you.” Frédéric growled. “How long to you plan on staying?”

“As long as Martha needs me.” Q answered glaring back at the man.

“It will be good for Martha to have family around.” Malcom said trying to defuse the tension between Q and the older man. “I didn’t know she had any left other than her aunt.”

“My mother and Martha’s mother were sisters. My parents live in Cambridge but we spent all our summers here when we were children.”

“Cambridge . . .” Frédéric said the word like it tasted bad in his mouth. “Isn’t that where all those German spies were?”

Q forced himself to remain civil. He was familiar with the island’s peculiar history. “They were British citizens spying for Russia. And that was over sixty years ago. Before my parents’ were even born.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Frédéric trailed off and started to walk away. “We watch out for troublemakers on this island. Don’t plan on staying long.” He said over his shoulder as he climbed up onto the seat of a tractor. He started the engine of the tractor and the chugging noise seemed so foreign and out of place on the island where there was no traffic sounds at all.

“Mister Bishop, Martha is a very much liked here on the island. I don’t know who would be pulling a trick on her but . . .” He paused and looked over at Frédéric. The rattling of the tractor engine was making Frédéric’s large belly shake. “If you need anything, please call me.”

He quickly jotted down a phone number on a sheet of paper in a small notebook then tore the page out. Q looked down at the number and nodded his head.

“I agree. It was probably something simple. A visitor or someone lost in the storm. But it is good to know someone is helping her out here.” Q smiled and held out his hand again. Malcom didn’t hesitate this time and shook it quickly.

“Any time.” He said before he trotted off towards the tractor.

Frédéric had already let up the clutch and pressed down the accelerator before Malcom climbed onto the back of the tractor. The nasty old thing spewed black smoke before it jerked and rolled down the drive and out towards the only road on that end of the island.

Q wandered in through the open front door and into the memories of his childhood. The old house had frightened him the first few times he had visited as a child, but as the summers came he became familiar with its gloomy interior and looming exterior until it became a favorite friend.

The original home was built shortly after the Norman invasion. The legend was the house and its stone walls had been built and razed then rebuilt three times over the centuries. The oak floor was laid down on top of the original flagstone floor. Because of the that there was an awkward step up over the threshold of the front door.

Martha hadn’t changed the entry hall at all. The long wide hall bisected the house down the middle. The hall was open from the ground floor up to the first. A large wooden staircase twisted back and forth between the two stories. On the landing, a large stain glass window tinted the light coming into the hallway from outside.

To the left was a formal sitting room with silk damask chairs and couches. Cherry wood and gold gilt accents highlighted the antique furniture. It was cold and impersonal.

To the right, was a family room. The furniture in that room was more comfortable and worn. Chintz chairs that were wide and welcoming by tables with reading lamps on top of them. The floors were covered with oriental rugs in muted colors and patterns. A large stone fireplace was on the opposite wall. Its mantle covered with silver framed photographs of various family members. Most Q remembered from his childhood. In the corner was the Christmas tree. It’s fairy lights turned off for the moment but brightly colored ornaments covered every limb.

The room was welcoming and familiar to Q. He remembered spending his summers sitting in the oversize chairs reading. The sound of the sea coming through the open windows as a breeze would pass through the house and cool the interior.

Today the house was warm and intimate but there was a sharp and unpleasant scent. Q glanced around then looked down at the floor. A mound of muck was beside muddy footprints crossing the wooden floor.

Frédéric’s boots.

Q sighed as he noticed Martha coming in from the kitchen with a broom and a dustpan.

“I’ll sweep up the big pieces and you open the windows.” She said as she started to clean up the manure off her floors. “I’ll mop the rest up.”

“How in the world did he get made Connétable?” Q asked.

Connétable was the equivalent of the chief of police on the small island.

“He is a good friend of the Seigneur and the seneschal.”

Q remembered the Seigneur was the head of the feudal government on the Isle of Sark and the seneschal was the head jurist of the island. Two very important persons to have on your side on the small island.

“Surely they know he’s an idiot.” Q said as he went and started to open the windows to remove the smell of pig manure from the room. The cold air from outside rushed in though the windows but also the scent of salt sea and burning leaves.

“He may seem rough around the edges but he gets the job done. It’s not as easy as you would think. We have got a major smuggling problem. He broke up a French gang that was trying to set up an operation here.”

Q went into the kitchen and grabbed the mop bucket by the back door. He placed it in the sink and turned on the hot water.

“I’m surprised he didn’t think they were German too.” Q whinged under his breath.

Martha heard his complaint as she came in. “He is a product of his up bringing, Ricky. His grandfather fought in the war and his grandmother was here on the island when it was occupied. He was raised to hate anyone with German extraction.”

“I was born in Cambridge. Lived my life in England. I work for the government. I barely remember my grandfather. I only met him – what five times before he died – in France!”

“But he was still here on the island as a German soldier. He still walked around with a gun and threatened the people living here.” Martha said as she opened the back door and tossed the mud and manure out onto the grassy lawn.

“It was seventy-five years ago. I doubt any of the people living today on the island were even alive back then.”

“Oh no, Maria and Jeremy Hoata were alive back then. I think they were four or five years old then.” Martha teased.

“Keep it up, Martha, and I’ll leave you to your ghosts.”

“Don’t you dare.” Martha squealed.

“Well, I’d rather deal with ghosts than that idiot, Connétable and his pig shit covered wellies.”

Martha frowned at the mess Frédéric had caused. “I really did call him before I called you.”

“Obvious mistake on your part. You should have called me immediately. I have connections. I could have been here that very night but it would have caused an incident in London.”

“I don’t want you to get fired because of me.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten fired, but it might have caused second invasion of the island by the British navy.” Q laughed.

“I thought you worked as IT for department in the government.” Martha looked confused at Q’s comment.

“Let’s just say that I have resources I’ve never had before.”

~Q~

It took Martha and Q about an hour to remove all traces of Frédéric and his muck covered boots from the house. It was aired out and freshly mopped, but because they had the windows open for so long, the house was chilled. Q had built a large fire in the stone fireplace the two of them sipped soup from mugs in front of it. The lights on the Christmas tree were lit and the room once again smelled of pine and oranges.

Martha had heated some mulled wine and the two enjoyed it as they reminisce over pervious holidays together.

“This is your first time here in the winter, isn’t it?” Martha asked.

“Yeah, I guess swimming in Adonis Pool is out of question right now.” Q was looking at a photo album. There were pictures of the two of them at the nature pools that filled with seawater at high tide.

“It would be a bit nippy.” She took a sip of her mull wine and felt the warmth fill her.

She was finally relaxing and enjoying Q’s presence. The reason she had fled her house two days before seemed to falling into the dark and forgotten corners of her mind.

“So tell me,” She started. “Are you dating?”

Q coughed on his wine and spilled some down his front. “Dating?”

“Yeah, you know. That’s when two people who like each other go out together to have a good time.”

“You watch too much telly.” Q offered as he wiped the spilled wine off his chin.

“Sooo?” She pressed.

“I’m not actively dating someone right now, but there is someone.”

“What do you mean, ‘there is someone’? Are the two of you sharing coffees or are you just shagging each other.”

Q coughed again. “NO we’re not shagging. Why would we . . .”

“Because it’s fun.” Martha teased.

“Well are you seeing anyone or . . .” Q tripped over the word. “Shagging?”

“No, the pickings are limited on the island. I’d need to go over to Guernsey or Jersey to find someone. Maybe I’ll skip over to France.”

“You could come to London. I could show you the town. I have some great friends. Eve and you would get on together great but don’t let her talk you into any mixed drinks. She finds the most hideous combinations and the hangovers the next day are killers.”

Martha raised an eyebrow. “Eve? A woman? How very different for you.”

“She’s a friend who is a girl. Not a girlfriend. I think I would be terrified at the idea of her being my girlfriend.” Q shook his head trying to clear the idea away.

“So you still like the blond men with crooked smiles?”

Martha was reward with a blush on Q’s cheeks.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” He said.

“You like blond hair and blue eyes. I remember the young sailor from Copenhagen. You were absolutely besotted with him that summer.”

Q remember the young man. It was almost twenty years ago and Q was only fifteen. The young Dane was a deck hand on a yacht that was visiting the island. They met at the pub. It was the first time Q had ever been kissed by someone. It was the night, Q realized he really was gay and not just shy around girls.

“Okay,” She yawned broadly and closed her eyes. She rested her cheek on her hand as she asked. “So tell me about this someone who you are not dating or sleeping with but you think you are in a relationship with.”

Q looked at her and smiled. “I think this is a conversation we should have later. I’m tired and you are about to fall asleep while talking to me.”

“Am not.” She sat up and blinked her eyes to focus them.

“Are so.”

He set his wine down on the tray and stood up. He held out his hand to Martha and helped her up to her feet. Together they both climbed the stairs and up to the bedrooms. At the top of the stairs, Q leaned over and kissed his cousin’s cheek.

“Good night, love. Tomorrow we’ll talk about boyfriends. Yours and mine.”

“You promise,” Martha asked then yawned again.

“Absolutely.”

He watched as she turned and walked down the hall towards her bedroom on the opposite side of the house from his. He waited until he heard her close the door, then he went to the room he used to sleep in twenty years before.

The wind picked up around midnight and the rafters of the old house began to creak. It woke Q up. He laid in the bed listening to the wind and groans of ancient wood. He pulled the duvet up closer to face and burrowed himself deeper into the bed. He took a moment to remind himself that he had secured the doors and windows of the house after dinner. There was no reason to believe the wind would push any of the doors open.

Then he heard a creak that wasn’t from above him. It was the sound of the treads of the wooden staircase. Q sat up and listened. The wind picked up in strength and the windows of the bedroom rattled. A tree branch outside began to scrap across the wall. Q strained to listen for any sound coming from inside the house.

_Was that a whisper?_

It was soft and undecipherable. He listened. Again he heard something. Slightly louder but still he could not understand what it was. Then he heard it again and it was clear enough to understand.

_“Martha”_

A soft frail voice somewhere in the house.

_“Martha”_

Slightly louder. Slightly closer.

Q kicked off his covers and took two steps closer to his door.

_“Martha get out!”_

The voice was in the hallway. Outside Q’s door. He rushed out of his room and into the dark hallway. The front door of the house slammed open and the wind burst into the house. Q rushed towards the stairs. He thought whoever was just upstairs must be trying to escape out the front door. He took the first step down, then felt a sharp pain in his ankle then the weightlessness of flying. He was falling. His head hit the wooden banister then blackness enfold around him.


	3. Bond to the Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond gets a phone call.

Bond had just finished packing his suitcase for trip to Nassau. He had a beach front villa reserved and was looking forward to warm sun and lively nights. He was checking his flight status and knowing he had about five hours before his flight. He would order the car in time to pick himself and his luggage up to get to Heathrow in plenty of time to make his flight.

He poured himself another measure of Talisker and savored the flavor of the twenty-five-year-old scotch. Deciding to leave all of his suits in London, Bond had backed his light cotton shirts and comfortable trousers. He slipped into his suitcase an extra pair of swim trunks and then zipped it closed.

He heard his phone ping with a message. He frowned and considered ignoring it. Just his luck that Tanner would call him in just as he was about to leave for a two-week holiday. He picked up the suitcase and placed them by the front door. He tapped out another cigarette from the pack and lit it when his phone pinged again. His training refused to let him ignore the text message.

He picked up the phone and looked at it.

_“Bond, I need you. Q”_

He grabbed his coat before he started to type a reply.

_“Where r u.”_

There was no reply to his text. Bond ran to the secluded carpark and climbed into his car. He called the phone number, but there was no answer. He quickly started his car and was out on the street in seconds.

He tried to call again, but still no answer. He had almost reached Q’s flat block when his phone rang.

“Q?” Bond’s voice was sharp and tight.

“I’m sorry, who?” It was a woman’s voice.

“Who is this? Where is the owner of this phone?”

“I’m sorry. Who are you looking for?”

Bond could hear someone speaking in the background. A man’s voice. The sound of the phone being fumbled between two people then the voice he had been waiting to hear.

“Bond?”

“Q? Where are you?”

“Ah – Sark.” Q said hesitantly.

“Where!?”

“One of the Channel Islands. Look, I know you were going on holiday but could you, maybe, possibly . . .”

“What’s happened?”

Q hesitated to answer him. Bond was about to ask again when Q spoke. “I think someone tried to kill me last night.”

“It was the ghost.” Bond heard the woman’s voice in the background.

“What?” Bond asked as he pulled the car into a parking space. “A ghost tried to kill you?”

“Yes, I mean no. Look, is there any chance you would come here and help us. Someone is trying to scare my cousin and it’s gotten rough.”

“How so?”

Again Q paused but Bond patiently waited this time.

“I fell or was pushed. I’m not sure.”

“Where?”

“Down a staircase. I’ve broken my arm. Mild concussion. Bruises.”

“And your cousin?” Bond asked wondering if it was her who had pushed Q.

“She’s . . . terrified. Please, we can’t do this alone. I need help and – well, there’s . . .” Q hesitated.

“There’s no one else you know crazy enough to go chasing ghosts?” Bond asked sarcastically.

“It’s not a ghost!” Q said firmly.

“Yes it is!” Bond heard the woman shout again.

The sound of muffling and distant voices came through the speaker of the phone. Q must have covered the receiver as he spoke to his cousin.

“Look, Bond if you don’t . . .”

“How do I get to wherever you are at?” He said, interrupting Q.

“Ah, thank you. I need you to get a package from R. I asked her to ‘allocate’ some equipment from work.” The way Q had phased the statement let Bond know it wasn’t official or definitely a need to know basis. He needed to be covert when he requested the package from Q’s second in charge.

“Alright, and travel arrangements?” Bond asked.

“I’ll contact R and ask her to make them for you. And pack for winter on a Channel Island. I’m sure it will be far colder than you hoped for your holiday.”

The package Bond picked up from R was another suitcase full of electronics and cameras. Bond wondered it Q really was going to go ‘ghost hunting’. R had arranged a private plane to fly Bond down to Guernsey Airport. It was large enough to take commercial jets but it only had one runway and the passengers had to disembark using rolling stairs. There were no ‘jetways’.

As Bond climbed down the metal stairs the cold winter wind hit him. It was sharp and smelled of salt and sea. He carried the suitcase from R and a had a backpack slung over his shoulder with his clothes and travel kit.

He hired a small fishing boat to take him over to Sark because he didn’t want to wait the three hours for the ferry. When the boat pulled up to the dock on Sark, Bond thought Q was pulling his leg.

“You must be joking.” Was all Bond said as he looked at the two people sitting in the small pony trap.

“It’s the law, Bond.” Q said.

“What? To look like some quaint picture postcard for the tourists?”

“No motorized vehicles except tractors.” The woman sitting next to Q said. Her hazel eyes cataloging every inch of the operative’s body. From his heavy leather work boots to his wool peacoat to the mirrored sunglasses he wore.

“Bond, this is my cousin, Martha Montfort. Martha, this is – um – James Bond.” Q turned away from her.

“Um?” Martha looked at Q and smiled. “I understand now why you called him and not someone else.”

Bond was unsure what she meant but was going to make it a point to find out.

“Please, Martha. I called him because I trust him. He is a good person to have in your corner in a fight.”

“So we’re going to fight a ghost?” Bond teased.

“No -Yes” Martha and Q answered simultaneously.

Q groaned and cast his eyes skyward as if looking for inspiration. “Just get in the damn cart, Bond. We have a long ride home.”

Bond slung the suitcase up into the back of the wooden cart.

“Careful, I have to return those.” Q chastised. Bond only smirked.

Then he noticed the discoloration on side of Q’s face. A dark purplish-black bruise that marred the right side of Q’s face. Bond took it as a personal insult. How dare someone attack ‘his’ quartermaster. He fought the urge to reach up and smooth over the mark. Hope that the bones underneath were still intact. Q’s glasses were not. A small piece of tape held the frame together. The lens appeared cracked.

Bond’s eyes scanned over Q’s face and glasses then moved down his body. Q was wearing an oversize coat. It hung on him loosely. Under the hem of the left sleeve, Bond noticed the royal blue fiberglass tape. The cast on Q’s left arm. Bond could see the fingers of that hand were bruised too.

He warily climbed up into the cart and sat down beside Q, opposite Martha. He wanted to question Q about what happened but didn’t in front of Q’s cousin. But once they were alone, Bond was going to find out what really was going on and why was Q in this condition.

The woman clucked and shook the reins. The hackney pony slowly started. Bond unzipped his backpack and reached inside it. He pulled out a simple black eyeglass case.

“R said you would need these.” He held the glass case out to Q.

“God, I love her.” Q sighed as he quickly changed his damaged glasses for the new pair.

Bond studied the small houses and farms as the cart rattled down the roads. He noticed, as he had been told, there were no cars or motorized vehicles. The was barely anything that could be called a village, let alone a town. But the houses were neat and well maintained. And the area seemed prosperous. Small farmhouses and neat fields. Groomed hedgerows and healthy-looking livestock.

“So, what really is this place?” He asked Q as the cart traveled down the road.

“It’s an island, of course.” Q said.

“Of course. But why no cars?”

“The Chief Pleas passed the law years ago.” Martha spoke without taking her eyes off the road and horse in front of them.

“The what?” Bond asked.

“The Chief Pleas is the parliament on the island. The Isle of Sark is in the Bailiwick of Guernsey. It is part of the Duchy of Normandy. The last part of France that the Crown still owns. So it is British but has been held as a fief by the Seigneur since 1565. It was the last feudal community in Europe.” Explained Q.

Q sounded like a tour guide. Bond wondered how many times the young man had to explain the island to people.

“Are you from here, Q?” Bond asked as he watched the people watching him.

“No. My grandmother was born here and we visited every summer when I was younger,” Q said.

“Ricky and I were unindicted co-conspirators according to my mum.” Martha said then she clucked at the horse.

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Ricky?” He said quietly to Q.

“Audric Bricker Bishop,” Q whispered back. “Spelled A – u – d – r – i – c. French.”

“Bricker is German.” Bond answered in a whisper too.

“My mother’s maiden name. I go by Rick Bishop.”

Bond nodded his head.

The pony trap rattled into the Martha’s barn yard. She pulled the horse to a halt as Bond climbed out of the back of the cart. He held up his hand for Q to take. Q hesitated for a moment, then he realized he really was going to need help climbing down.

He took Bond’s offered hand, and carefully stepped down on the cart’s step. Bond reached up and placed a hand on Q’s waist to steady him. Q fought the urge to tell Bond to stop. It was too tempting to allow Bond to touch him and Q did not want to become starved for it. Better to never taste chocolate than to become addicted to it.

“I’m not an invalid, Bond.” Q spoke softly.

“You look like one.” Bond teased. “Other than the obvious injuries, is there anything else damaged?”

“Only my pride.” Q said looking at the blonde.

“That may take the longest to heal.”

Q turned and reached for the suitcase that R had packed for him.

“No, I’ll take that,” Bond said, as he grabbed the case before Q’s hand closed around the handle. “We don’t need you dropping it and breaking the tech.” Bond’s eyes glinted at Q.

Bond picked up his backpack too and swung it over his shoulder. He turned and smiled brightly which left the other man to just scowl back at him. The two men heard Martha giggle softly as she climbed down from the cart.

“You two go on into the house. I’ll take care of Briny and put the cart away.”

“Are you sure?” Q asked his cousin. He would normally push the cart under the shed roof himself as she took care of the horse.

“Go. Show your friend where everything is. I assume you two will share a room tonight?”

Q blushed. While Bond remained complete nonplussed.

“Let’s see how it shakes out.” He said. He waved his arm forward. “Rick would you like to show me the ghost?”

“Oh, shut up, Bond.” Q hissed as he marched towards the house.

The two men walked the short distance to the house. Bond let his eyes scan over the building. It was an attractive house that appeared to have been updated over the years. It was two stories with a grey slate roof. The windows were multiple panes and two chimneys were on either end of the building. The bleach stone steps led up into a single front door, broad and tall. Q unlocked the door and went inside.

Bond looked around the entryway that opened into the central hall. The hall was paneled in oak. Year of varnish and wax had darken the wood to warm golden brown. His eyes traveled up the stairs to the landing and stained-glass window. The sunlight passing through the colored glass gave the open hallway a warm and multihued atmosphere.

Bond took a moment to look carefully at the window. It was as much a painting on the glass as it was the intricate work of cut glass and lead binding. It was a portrait of a woman with ginger hair and the smug express. She wore of bright yellow dress and in her hand she held out a document. Behind her, on a background of blue glass was three sailing ships. Full masted and with cannons firing. At her feet were several flags. There was a Spanish flag of yellow and red. There was a blue flag with three yellow fleur-de-lis and a green and red flag.

“A family member?” Bond nodded towards the woman in the window.

“Hardly,” Q scoffed. “That is supposed to be Elizabeth the First. The window was originally in a church somewhere here on the property. When Napoleon’s troops landed they ransack the island. One of Martha’s great, great, great, grandfathers saved the window and hid it from the French sailors. Later when he rebuild this house, he incorporated the window into it. The original church was burned down by the French.”

Bond stared at the window for a moment more. “Elizabeth the First? Is that supposed to be the Spanish Armada?”

“That’s the legend but my father disagreed.” Q said.

“Your father?”

“My father is the Chair of Medieval English History at Cambridge. He felt the window actually depicted Elizbeth giving the letter patent to Hellier de Carteret. He was the first Seigneur of the island. Elizabeth gave him Sark as a fief if he kept it clear of pirates.”

Bond shook his head. “Your father teaches at Cambridge. That explains why you sound like someone teaching a history lesson.”

“Do I?”

“A history professor or a tour guide. You pick.”

Q reached for R’s suitcase. “Let me take that.”

Bond held it back. “Where do you want it?”

Q sighed. “In the kitchen, please. We have work we need to do before it gets dark.”

Bond followed Q into the old kitchen. This must have been an older part to the house. There was a step down from the wooden floor of the house to the flag stone floor of the kitchen. Two walls were quarried stone, morticed together. The other walls were typical walls of wood and plaster. There was a large grey soapstone sink and counter. Above the sink was a bank of windows that looked out onto a dormant garden with a fence around it. Beyond the garden were fields and enclosures of trees.

Bond noticed the heavy curtains in the windows. They were lined with vinyl sheeting.

“Blackout curtains? They can’t possibly be left over from the war.”

“No. It’s a requirement here that all the houses have them.” Q said.

Bond looked at the curtains again and wondered what other oddities he would discover about the Isle.

As he picked up the suitcase and set it on the table. He opened the case up and carefully removed the foam padding. Inside were powder cords and what looked like a powerful mobile internet connector. There were two items that looked like non-descript grey boxes. Five inches by three inches by an inch. And a brand-new laptop.

“Don’t tell me you forgot your own.” Bond said as he looked at the computer.

“This computer is specially linked to theses.”

Q held up a tiny black object. It was square and less than an inch in width. In the center was a simple black lens.

Q turned the computer on and started to lay the nine different miniature cameras out across the tabletop. As he turned each on, a separate window appeared on the computer screen, showing the view from that very camera.

“They are night vision as well as high resolution. I also asked R to send me two infra-red cameras that will pick up any heat signatures.” Q said as he carefully examined each camera and its image.”

“You sincerely believe that house is being haunted?” Bond asked.

“No I do not, but Martha does. I believe someone is trying to scare her out of her house. And I want to know who and why. The first thing to do is to catch them entering the house. They’ve done it twice now, without a trace. If we catch them on camera, will know who is doing and how. Then we’ll find out later why.”

Bond picked up the first camera. He lifted it up close to his face to study it when he caught his image on the computer screen.

“Are they durable?” Bond asked.

Q raised an eyebrow. “Within reason. What are you going to do, 007?”

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. Just curious.”

Q sighed. “Ordinary for you usually involves explosives and complete loss of my tech.”

“It would prevent any more incursions.” Bond smiled.

“But blowing up my cousin’s house would kind of defeat the issue of helping her to stay in her house.”

Bond laughed softly as Q’s exasperated expression. “Okay, Quartermaster. Where do you want me to set them up?” Bond smile.

“Outside.” Q growled.

As they stepped out of the front of the house, Martha was talking to the young man Q had met the day before.

“Malcom?” Q called out.

The man turned and briefly smiled at the two men. Then his expression rapidly changed. He had been curious of Q and maybe a little suspicious. But he didn’t like Bond at all. The hostility poured off the young man.

“Who are you?” Malcom glared at Bond. His hands were slightly in front of his body and his shoulders slightly rounded. As if he was preparing himself for an attack.

“Malcom, this is Ricky’s friend, James.” Martha said. “He’s here to help.”

“We don’t need outsider’s help.” He snarled at Bond.

Bond remained indifferent towards the younger man. He kept his stance relaxed and lose.

“Malcom, someone broke into this house last night. They did it before too. I don’t care what Frédéric said. Martha is in danger.” Q warned.

“I’ll keep Martha safe.” Malcom said. Then he turned to the woman. “You can rely on me, Martha. You didn’t need to call these strangers in.”

“Ricky is my cousin. He’s not a stranger and if Ricky trusts James, well then I can trust him.”

“But Martha . . .” Malcom almost pleaded.

“Someone pushed my friend down the stairs last night.” Bond said coolly. “Someone is threatening his cousin. I’m here to help.”

“Martha, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do . . .” Malcom ignored Bond.

“Malcom, I know you care. It’s just I think this is more than you can handle.”

Malcom looked offended. “I can handle anything they can.”

Q and Bond took a quick glance at each other. The corner of Bond’s mouth curled up in a smirk.

“That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” Martha pleaded

“Martha, I don’t understand why you would trust these off islanders instead of me. Someone you’ve known your whole life.” Malcom continued.

Q stepped forward. “Malcom, look – we’re not here to step on anyone’s toes. Bond and I do have some experience with handling people up to no good.”

“You’re cops?” Malcom looked skeptically at the two.

“In a fashion, yes. Governmental enforcement.” Q said nodding his head.

“Like MI5?”

“Maybe but we can’t really explain any further.” Q said ignoring the snort Bond just made. “We just want to find out who is tormenting my cousin.”

“Why do you all refuse to believe me. It is a ghost!” Martha shouted. “I’m tired of being treated like a child. I know what I saw and what I saw was a ghost!”

Martha stormed off towards the house. She slammed the front door leaving the three men outside.

Q sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Great.” He hissed.

“Is it true you were pushed?” Malcom asked.

“I don’t . . .” Q hesitated. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember feeling anyone push me but I fell. It was like my feet were swept out from underneath me. I hit the banister on the way down.”

“Had you been drinking?” Malcom asked.

Q looked up at the man then over towards Bond who was looking intently at him. “A little wine. Not much.”

“How much is not much?” Malcom asked.

“Look, I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t incapacitated. I was woken up by the wind then I heard someone in the hallway. They were trying to scare Martha. I came out of my room and the front door burst open. I ran to the stairs and then – then I was falling and the lights went out. I woke up on the couch and the doctor was hovering over me. My arm was broken and my head hurt.”

“So you could have just tripped and fallen down the stairs.” Bond said. “You were partly asleep and the wind sounded like someone talking and then a simple accident?”

“NO!” Q snapped back. “Something happened. And someone was there.”

Malcom frowned as his attention moved between the two men and the closed front door.

“There are no strangers on the island right now other than the two of you. No one has seen anything out of the ordinary. Martha is – well she is special to me – and a lot of other people too. No one would want to hurt her. No one living here. I can’t believe it is anything other than a series of misunderstandings.”

Q glance shifted from Malcom to Bond then back to Malcom.

“I believe someone is doing this to her. And I’m going to find out who. You can help us or you can simply get out our way. But we aren’t leaving until we know for certain Martha is safe.”

Malcom stared at Q for a moment then nodded his head.

“Alright. I’ll keep Frédéric out of the way. But realize, the longer you stay the more difficult it will become for Martha on the island.”

Q glared at the man.

“I remember what it was like. I remember how the island treats people who were not born here. If you’re not a day tourist, you’re a threat. But I’m telling you. We are not the threat to Martha. If you’re telling me that there are no other strangers on the island, then whoever is doing this is someone she knows. You know. Everyone on this damn island knows.”

Malcom was taken back by that comment. He shrugged unable to argue the point with Q. He hesitantly held his hand out to Q.

“If you need anything call me. If there is any more trouble, I’ll be here to help next time.”

“Thank you. And I will let Martha know that you believe her.”

“But I don’t.”

“It won’t hurt you if she thinks you are in her corner. She would appreciate support right now. Any support.”

“She always has that from me.” Malcom said. Then he turned around and started to walk down the drive back to the main road.


	4. Meeting the Relatives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of Q's grandparents.

Bond stood on the ladder as he hid the last camera up under the eaves. They had placed a camera on each corner of the house. Then an infra-red camera by the front door and by the back door. They put two cameras in the barnyard and then one camera on the drive leading up to the house.

As Bond placed the last camera by the back door he asked. “Why did you choose these night vision cameras. If she would put up some simple motion detector lights out here you could use regular CCTV.”

“There are no outdoor lights around here.” Q said. He was holding the computer awkwardly in the crook of his broken arm as he typed with his good hand. “Turn it to the left some more.”

“None? Why?” Bond asked as he adjusted the camera.

“Good.” Q said as he looked up at Bond. “It’s a Dark Sky Community. There are no outside lights at night. No streetlights or outdoor lights. The houses even block the light coming from inside. That way there is no measurable light pollution on the island. You can see countless stars here at night. It is gorgeous. There is an observatory here because of it.”

“Sounds like a great idea if you want to commit a crime.” Bond said as he climbed down from the ladder.

“Not a lot of crime here. Everyone knows everyone else. It would be impossible to go unnoticed. I’m sure by now the whole island knows about you being here.”

“Surely they get a lot of tourists here?”

“Yeah, but mostly in the summer. Very few in the winter and a stranger riding around in a local’s personal transportation would be noticed and gossiped about.” Q said teasingly.

“Then whoever is doing this to your cousin is a local.” Bond said as he turned to face Q. “Someone who is from here and no one would think twice about them lurking around.”

Q frowned. “It could be a stranger but it would be very difficult for them. They would have to hide during the day. I guess it’s more likely someone from here. Someone who is familiar with the place.”

The thought seemed to make Q uncomfortable. It was a small island and Martha had grown up on it. She and her family had been friends with everyone on the island. They were a community. The idea that one of them was doing this to her was troubling. It was even more horrendous than the idea of some stranger breaking into her house.

“Has she had any trouble with her neighbors or anyone on the island?” Bond asked as he folded the ladder closed and walked it back into the barn.

“Not that I know of. Not in a long time. But some people have long memories.”

“What do you mean?” Bond asked.

“Well, my grandmother caused the family scandal. Because of her, the family almost had to leave the island for good. My great aunt Mary and her husband worked hard to make the name of Wadard not a curse word around here. Then my cousins Madeline and Dianna married local boys and after two generations most of it has been forgiven.”

“What did your grandmother do? Ask to sever on the Chief Pleas.”

“Nothing so outrageous. She fell in love.” Q said.

“Doesn’t sound too bad.” Bond said.

“She fell in love with the wrong person. A person who was supposed to be her enemy.” Q looked sad as he spoke.

Bond remained silent, waiting for Q to continued. Q frowned and shook his head.

“It was during the war. The island was occupied by the Germans. It had no major strategic advantage so there were only a few soldiers stationed here. Maybe a dozen. One was my grandfather, Peter Bricker. He had been conscripted when he was seventeen and hated it. He didn’t believe in Hitler or the Nazis but if he didn’t fight, he would have been shot, along with his parents. He didn’t have much choice - he was trapped. So here he was, fighting in a war he didn’t believe in and for a government he didn’t like and he fell in love with a local girl. Grandma Martha was sixteen and Peter was seventeen. When the orders came for the Germans to evacuate the island he ran away and she hid him. When the British troops landed, he surrendered to them. He was a POW and was kept on the island to work. After the war, the two married but there was no way they could stay here. And he refused to go back to Germany. So they moved to France and lived out their lives there. My mother was born there.”

“You said your father was a professor at Cambridge.”

“Yes. My mother was born in France but had British citizenship. She went to school in England and University - Newnham College. She met my father, Albert, at some dance or something and they fell in love. He was absolutely blown away when he learned she had connection to the Isle of Sark, even though she had never lived here.” Q said.

“Why?” Bond asked, now completely intrigued by the story of Q’s family.

“The names of the families. Wadard and Montfort. They were names of companions of William the Conqueror. They were supposed to have helped him win the Battle of Hastings in 1066. His thesis was about William the Conqueror’s half-brother, the Bishop of Bayeux, Odo. My father believed that the Bishop started a monastery on the island. We would come every summer while he looked for any trace of it. He would walked over the entire island, looking into caves and under ruins while I played with Martha and her brother, Norman.”

Q turned and walked out of the barn as Bond followed him. Bond paused and looked out over the fields. He could imagine what the island would look like in summer. Horses and cattle grazing in dark green pastures. Corn fields bowing their heads in the gentle winds and the sapphire blue sea on the horizon. It would be beautiful and peaceful. He couldn’t imagine such a place being tainted by things like Nazis and war. If it wasn’t for the lack of cars, nightlife, and anonymity, he might consider retiring here.

“I’m sure you have an interesting family history too,” Q said when he realized he had basically told Bond all the family secrets.

“Not nearly.” Bond turned and smiled. “My father was Scottish and my mother French. Her parents died the year before she did. My father’s parents were killed in a speedboat accident on a loch when he was teenager.” There was a sense of resignation that came into Bond’s voice. A hint of despondency. 

“Oh, God, you really were alone when they died.” Q had read the file but he had never considered how difficult it had to be for the man. “Even though I was an only child, I always seemed to have family around me. I can’t imagine what it was like to be all alone.”

Bond shifted his gaze back out to the fields. “It’s no different than anything your familiar with. It’s what you know so it feels normal.”

Q’s gaze moved to follow Bond’s. The two men stood and watched the distance landscape when they noticed a woman riding down the road on a bicycle. Her legs peddling smoothly as she sailed down the road, then turned up the drive to the house.

“Look’s like more company.” Bond said. “Any idea who?”

Q noticed the garish red hair and the scowling face. “I’m afraid I do.”

~Q~

Dianna Wadard Owens was in her late sixties struggling to appear thirty-five. In her thirties she had started dying her hair ginger. At first it was a pale strawberry blond. Light and attractive. Then she went into a slightly darker phase. More the color of red sandstone. Attractive on of woman in her late forties. But when she turned fifty Dianna started to dye her hair flaming red. Bright and orangey. Something akin to a flagman’s vest. Vibrant for the purpose of drawing attention.

And if her hair didn’t draw the attention, her shrill voice did. It was loud and boisterous. Cutting through a crowded room like nails on a blackboard.

Dianna Wadard Owens had left the island when she was twenty and moved to Dover. There she taught mathematics and home economics at a local school. She married her fellow teacher, Robert Owens, and together they had stayed in the same rowhouse until they both retired. At which point, Dianna insisted they return to the Sark. Expecting to be welcomed back with open arms, Dianna was gravely disappointed that she and her husband would not be living in the house she grew up in with her sister. Dianna’s sister, Madeline refused.

Ten years later, Dianna still lived on the Isle of Sark but in a small house near St. Peter’s Church. With a small garden and even smaller house, Dianna was one of the most out spoke opponents to the changes on the island.

She barreled up the drive to Martha’s front door. She saw Bond and Q walked out of the barn yard and across the path towards the house.

“Are you he?” she asked. Her voice crackled like lighting.

“He?” Q asked.

“The German.”

Bond could feel Q growl next to him. It was low and rumbled like a small earthquake. It made the hairs on Bond’s skin rise.

“You must be mistaken,” Bond said smoothly before Q could speak. “He’s English and I’m Scottish and proud of it. Are you looking for a someone specifically?”

The woman scowled and glared at Q. “You’re Chloe’s son aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m Chloe’s son, Aunt Dianna.” Q said sharply.

“Is it true?”

“What?” Q asked.

“The ghost?! Is it true? Is there a ghost?”

The front door opened and Martha stepped out of the house. “Aunt Dianna! What are you doing here?”

“Frédéric told me the German was back. Frédéric said you saw Robert!” Dianna snarled.

“Uncle Robert?” Martha gasped. “I don’t – no.”

Dianna looked up at the gables of the house. The dark windows and slate roof. It was like she was waiting to see if the apparition appeared at the glass.

“Are you sure?” Dianna asked.

“It was a man. An older man. Almost bald.”

“Robert, my husband! I knew it. He is here because it should have been our house. He is haunting it.”

Q shook his head and covered his face with his hand. “The house is not haunted. There is a rational explanation.”

Then Q looked up at Dianna. “Frédéric told you the house was haunted?”

“Well, not exactly.” Dianna fidgeted at Q’s question.

“What did he say?” Asked Q.

“He said the German was back.”

Q glared. “And?”

“He said Martha got hysterical because of the storm and imagined seeing someone in the house. When he described who she saw I knew it was Robert. It has to be him. It was his house!” Dianna insisted.

“Aunt Dianna, it was never Robert’s house. It was left to me.” Martha said.

“Only because they changed the law. If the laws we had been living by were allowed to continue as they should have, then the house would have been left to Robert. Which would have been appropriate. As intended by our ancestors.”

“The primogeniture law was repealed over a decade ago. And even if it was still in effect, then the house would have gone to Ricky since Norman passed away. Robert was the third male relative.” Martha glared.

“Ricky!? He’s a foreigner! He is not a native.” Dianna protested.

“Neither was Uncle Robert. It didn’t matter. He would have inherited before your husband!”

Bond leaned over to Q and whispered. “Primogeniture? You must be joking?”

“No we’re not. Like we said, the last feudal community in Europe. Woman were only given inheritance privileges in the late nineties and the laws of primogeniture were overturned in 2008. Thank God.” Q whispered back.

“Well, there is only one thing to do.” Dianna continued.

“What?” Martha scowled.

“Ask your father and mother.”

Martha paled so quickly, Q thought she was going to faint.

“Aunt Dianna, what the hell are you talking about. Aunt Madeline and Uncle David are dead.” Q argued.

“A séance.”

Q’s stomach dropped. He stood staring blankly at the woman. He couldn’t believe he just heard what he heard.

“Are you insane?” Q asked astounded.

“I’m sensitive, you know. I’ve have the ability to contact the beyond.”

Q just stared at the woman in disbelief. Bond stepped forward and smiled.

“Sound’s like a wonderful idea, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For American readers, in England what they call corn we call wheat. 
> 
> Also, I can't find any photographs of Sark that I can post with the story, but please look up images of the island. It is beautiful and seems like a wonderful place to visit. There are beautiful beaches and coves. Interesting caves you can sail into and very friendly people. Also the island has some very rugged cliffs and drops. It is quite an unusual place.


	5. Who is Norman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very tired physically and emotionally as I post this. If there are any mistakes, please let me know.

Q followed Bond back into the house as the two woman remained outside arguing.

“Bond are you crazy?!” Q asked.

His head was pounding and he wished he were back in London and safely hidden in MI6’s basements.

“No, I think it would be a great idea.” Bond looked up at the stairs. “Is the set of steps you fell down?”

“What?” Q glanced up. “Oh, yeah. The top of the stairs.”

Bond rushed up the steps two at a time. Q followed more slowly.

“Tell me again exactly what happened.” Bond paused halfway up the second flight.

“I was asleep in my bed. The second bedroom on the right. I was woken up by the wind. Then I heard someone calling out Martha’s name. I jumped out of bed and ran out into the hallway. The front door burst open and then I fell.” Q sounded tired. He was tired of repeating the event.

“Did you fall before the stairs or did you take a step or two?” Bond asked.

His attention was focused down at the wooden steps.

“I took a step down. No, two steps then it felt like my feet were swept out from underneath me.”

“Were you wearing slippers or socks?”

Q cocked his head at an angle. “Why would that matter?”

“Were you?” Bond pressed.

“No I was barefoot. I packed in a hurry and didn’t have any slippers and I never sleep in socks.”

Bond smiled back at him. “Good, so very un-sexy in bed.”

Q scowled but walked up pass Bond and stood on a higher step.

“So you made it to the second step. Let me see your ankles.”

“What?”

“Ankles, please. Strip.” Bond ordered.

Bond was rewarded with a deep blush across Q’s face. It made the smug expression on Bond’s face bloom brighter.

Q fought to remain controlled as he finally glared at the other man then sat down on the very top of the stairs. He took off his shoes and pulled off his socks. Bond sat down and reached for the hem of Q’s trousers. There were numerous round bruises up and down Q’s leg. Bond regarded all of them, then his finger drew across a dark line on Q’s right shin. A thin flat bruise that was only a few inches long.

Q looked down and saw the dark thin bruise across his ankle. “I’ve got bruises all over my body from the fall.”

“I think you got this one just before you fell.”

Bond seemed to be determining the height of the bruise on Q’s leg. Then he twisted and looked at the molding around the stairs. His fingers lightly dragged across the dark oak skirting that edged the treads.

“There are worm holes here so I can’t be completely sure.” Bond said.

“Sure about what?” Q asked intrigued now by Bond’s movements.

He moved down a stepped and leaned closer into Bond. Trying to see what the agent was seeing.

“It had to be a tripwire.”

“On the stairs? A tripwire that made me fall?” Q almost shouted. “It could have killed me?”

“Yes, it could have. You are very lucky. And it also tells me that whoever is responsible is either stupid or willing to murder to get what they want.”

“But there’s no evidence of a wire – no hole or marks.”

“Like I said, your cousin’s house had wood worms. She should replace this skirting. I can’t be sure but someone could have placed a small nail here with a wire attached to it and looped it around the spindle of the railing. Then after you fell and you and Martha were busy in the sitting room waiting for the doctor, they could have come in and removed it.”

“Without us seeing them?” Q asked.

“He’s gotten in before. He probably can get in anytime he wants.” Bond shrugged.

Q looked sideways at Bond. “Is that the reason you wanted to do the séance? You think whoever is doing this will use it as an opportunity to try something else?”

“Of course. You don’t honestly think I believe there is a ghost.” Bond smiled.

Q sighed heavily. “Oh, God. Thank you, Bond. I was beginning to think I was the only one making any sense around here.”

“If there is anything I know for sure, Q, is I can trust you and what you believe is happening. You are the most observant and intelligent person I know.”

Q was taken back by the honestly he saw in Bond’s face. For a brief moment, he let the comment wash over him and warm him. He nodded his head.

“Thanks.” Q looked back at the wooden skirting hoping he hadn’t given too much away. “So we set a trap for our would-be ghost and then when Aunt Dianna is ‘drumming up the dead’, we capture him.”

“If we can’t catch him in the act, the cameras will at least tell us how he is getting into and out of the house so fast.”

Q glanced up and smiled. Bond was staring right at him. A smug expression of success upon his face.

~Q~

Dianna had gone home but promised to be back later. Bond and Q had finished with the cameras and were checking everything on the computer when Martha came into the kitchen. She looked exhausted. She apparently had been crying. Her eyes were red and slightly swollen. Her lip was red and puffy where she had been worrying it with her teeth. Martha looked pale and fragile.

As soon as Bond saw her, he jumped up from his seat and carefully wrapped his arm around her waist and led her to the table. Q held the chair for her as she sat down.

“How about a cup of tea, love.” Q said.

“Please. I just don’t know how much more of this I’m going to able to take.”

She placed her elbows on the table and hid her face in her hands.

“Let me,” Bond said as Q started to rub Martha’s shoulders with his one good hand.

Q nodded a thank you while Bond quickly went and filled the kettle. He was busy with looking for cups and the teapot as Q tried to console his cousin.

“We’ll figure out what is going on, love. Don’t worry. James and I won’t leave until we do. I promise.”

Martha looked up. “You promise?’

“I just did.” He smiled down at her.

Martha grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I’ve missed you so much. I can’t believe it’s been eight years since you were here last. Please don’t stay away again. Please!”

Bond set a cup of steaming tea in front of the distraught woman. He placed a small pitch of cream and the sugar bowl too.

“Eight years? Why have you been away for so long?” Bond asked.

Q gave him an annoyed glare. It took Bond a second to realize that Q had taken over as Quartermaster eight years ago. Q had been so busy at MI6 he was unable to visit his cousin. Bond and the other agents were the reason Q had been away.

Q looked back at his cousin. “It doesn’t matter, I’m here now. And I won’t let it happen again.”

Bond pour two more cups of tea and set them on the table. He would have preferred something stronger but was afraid to ask for alcohol in such an unusual place like Sark.

“You mentioned someone named Norman. That he would have inherited the house before Rick and Robert. Who is Norman?” Bond asked.

Q sighed as Martha frowned. She reached for the cup of tea and took a sip. Q sat down beside her and took her hand.

“Norman was my brother. Older brother.” Martha started. “But only by two years. We were close. He would let me go with him when he went exploring in the caves. He knew every cave on this end of the island. He took Ricky and I swimming in the pools. He was a wonderful brother.” She wiped her tears away. “All the children on the island went to the same school. My father would take us every day to school so we wouldn’t blow off La Coupée.”

Bond glanced at Q.

“It’s the name of the isthmus between the two parts of the island. Sark and Little Sark. The legend is children would get blown off the isthmus. They would have to crawl across it before the railings went up.”

Bond nodded his head but didn’t say anything. Having seen the tall narrow strip of land between the two portions of the island he could believe it. The edges and cliffs there were steep.

“Norman was bored living here. He didn’t love it like I did. He wanted to move to France or England but our father insisted he stay. He was going to inherit the farm and it was important he learn how to run it. I loved the farm – the animals and the crops. I loved the island but Norman hated it the longer he stayed. He wanted nothing to do with it but Dad insisted. There was terrible fights. One night, he told our father he was leaving. He was going to France. He walked out of the house. He was going to the harbor and wait for the ferry that would be there in the morning.” Her voice started to break. “He didn’t make it. We never saw him again.” She collapsed on the table crying.

Q placed a hand on her back and slowly rubbed circles.

“The Connétable – chief police officer – believed Norman fell off La Coupée. The currants took his body out to sea. He was never recovered.”

Martha cried louder. Q frowned and moved closer to hug his cousin.

“Darling, it’s going to be okay. I promise.” He pulled her tight to his chest as he continued the story for Bond. “Losing Norman destroyed my aunt and uncle. They gave up working the farm and Martha took over. Uncle David died within a few months of Norman. Heart attack. Aunt Madeline lived for another two years but passed away too. Martha inherited the farm because the laws had changed. If they hadn’t been, then I would have inherited it because I was the closest male relative by blood. I would have immediately signed it over to Martha if I had received it.”

“If this place has so many sad memories, why do you stay?” asked Bond. “Haven’t you ever wanted to leave here?”

Martha pulled out of Q’s arms and wiped her eyes. “I’ve been other places. I went to school in Leeds. I studied agriculture and farming. I spent a year in Kent working at an industrial farm. I couldn’t wait to come back here. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

“Were you here the night Norman went missing?” Bond asked.

“No, I was in Kent at the time. Mum called the day after he went missing. I flew down as quickly as I could. They had been searching for twelve hours by the time I got here.”

“Any evidence he fell?” Bond asked.

Q thought it was odd Bond would be fixating on Norman.

“His rucksack was found halfway down the cliff.” Martha said. “His passport was inside it.”

“Is it very dangerous this La Coupée?”

“Over the years, Dozens of people have fallen. Over the history of island, maybe hundreds of people. Like I said, children were told to crawl across it so they weren’t blown off.”

Bond nodded his head. He stood up and went to the window to look out over the garden.

“So there are three men who were closely associated with this house that have died. Norman, your father and your uncle.”

Martha seemed surprised by the comment. “Well, the house is actually very old. At least two hundred years. So there are numerous people who have died inside it. My grandfather and his father and his father and so forth. I can’t tell you how many.”

“Ever had any other incidence of hauntings before?” Bond asked.

Martha blinked her eyes.

“My mum said that during the war, there was ghost seen near the caves. A sailor who had been killed. When we were children we would go looking for him. But inside the house or on the farm? No, never. No ghosts.”

“But you are certain what you saw was a ghost?” Bond asked again.

“I’m not hysterical. I saw a man standing out in the garden but he was partial see-through. Then he was suddenly in the house. I heard him in the upstairs hallway the night Ricky fell. Something is here now and it is telling me to leave.”

“Do you recognize the ghost?” Q asked.

“No, not really.”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like I should know who it is but I can’t place him. He looks familiar but I don’t know why.”

There was a firm knock on the front door.

“Well, then, I guess we are ready to find out who your ghost is with Aunt Dianna’s help.”


	6. The Séance

The sky above him was a glittering blanket of diamonds on a velvet background. A river of pale rose tinted stars arched across the southern sky from horizon to horizon. The stars seemed to swirl and move as the intensity of the light increased while Bond became accustom to the night. Pulling him into their light, lifting him from the solidity of the earth and drawing him up to the sky.

“Beautiful, isn’t it.” Q whispered beside Bond.

The agent shivered at the whispered sound his Quartermaster’s voice. His attention was pulled from the beauty of the night sky and to the man standing beside him.

“I’ve only seen stars like this in the desert. But never this bright or seemingly close.” Bond spoke softly. Afraid his voice would shatter the crystal display above them.

“When I was a kid, we would sleep outside in the summer just look up at the sky. It was wonderful. It is why everyone agreed to not use outdoor lighting. It’s the first Dark Sky island.”

“I thought they were all eccentrics living here, but now, I understand.” Bond said pulling his eyes away to look at his Quartermaster.

Q laughed softly and Bond found it entrancing. The starlight made Q’s skin pale as marble. His hair was black as the night, but the light reflected off the man’s glasses making him look like he had stary eyes.

“They maybe eccentric but they are good people too. Caring and friendly.”

“You love it here, don’t you?” Bond asked.

Q sighed. “It’s where I was allowed to be a kid. I could run and swim and just be here. To be just any other kid and not the son of the professor. At home, I was always the youngest person in the room growing up. The oddity. But here I was allowed to be normal with Martha and Norman. I loved my summers here.”

“Did you grow up in Cambridge?”

“Yes. At my father’s college. His students were always coming and going through our house. Every meal was taken up with discussions about medieval history. My parents had me reading Sir Thomas Malory’s _Le Morte d'Arthur_ by the time I was ten. In the original fifteenth century English. My father had hoped I would follow him in academia but I chose computers over history just to be rebellious.”

“That was your idea of rebelling against your parents?” Bond chuckled. “Computers? At twelve, I stole the gamekeeper’s jeep and went for a joy ride over the moors. It got stuck in a bog and sunk.”

Q returned Bond’s smile. “I see your modus operandi hasn’t changed much over the years.”

The two men turned back and looked up once more on the night sky.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Q asked quietly.

“Your ghost wouldn’t miss the chance of making an appearance tonight. It would be the perfect time to scare Martha and you out of the house for good.”

“Well then, let’s go get scared.” Q said.

Bond turned and looked at Q one more time before they went into the house.

Dianna insisted the séance take place in the dining room. A fire had been lit in the fireplace and a single candle was lit on the table. All the other lights in the house were turned off. Martha was standing next to Q as Dianna burned sage in the enclosed room.

Bond was checking every door and window of the house. He had closed and locked the shutters over the ground floor windows. He made sure the upstairs windows were locked and secured. He double checked the kitchen door and the front door to make sure they were locked. Then he went in and sat down at the table.

Dianna sat down at the head of the table and waved Martha over. Martha hesitated and glanced at Q.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered to her and took her hand. He squeezed it lightly and then drew her to the chair. Q and Martha sat down beside each other and across the table from Bond.

“Alright, concentrate on the candle.” Dianna started.

Q glanced at Bond just in time to see the blonde roll his eyes at the woman.

“Concentrate, empty your mind of every thought but the candle.”

Q thought that was the most ridiculous idea he had ever heard of.

“Concentrate!” Dianna continued emphatically.

The room was silent expect for the crackling of the fireplace. The house was quiet. Not even the wind was blowing tonight. The air was still.

The flame of the candle flickered. Dianna gasped.

“They are here!”

Bond’s eyes shifted to the right. He was watching for any change of the shadows. Q felt his cousin begin to shake beside him. He squeezed her hand again, reassuringly.

“Madeline? David? Is that you?” Dianna asked.

The flame of the candle did not move.

“Who is there? Who are you?”

The air in the room cooled. The room began to smell sweet. Q’s head began to hurt. His legs were uncomfortable and the room was definitely getting colder. It seemed a frigid layer was building up from the floor and towards the people sitting there.

“Speak! Tell us who you are and what you want!” Dianna seemed unaffected by the changes.

Q looked at Bond and saw the tiny flinch around the agent’s eyes. The hesitant twist of his head to the side.

“Tell us!”

_“Martha . . .”_ the voice was soft and distant. A whisper. “ _Martha, you must leave_.”

Martha gasped and reached for Q with both of her hands. He wrapped his arm around the frightened woman.

“Who are you?” Dianna persisted.

_“Leave . . . get out!”_ The voice was coming from the open hallway door.

Bond twisted his head to look not towards the hallway but towards the kitchen.

“Robert?! Robert is that you?!” Dianna asked.

In the arch way leading into the hallway, there was a faint shimmer. A mist of light. Q and Martha turned to look at it. Q’s hands were cold now. The room was freezing.

“Who are you?!”

The mist coalesced and the shape of a man’s head and shoulders could be seen.

“That’s him!” Martha shouted.

The manifestation was transient. There but not there. It appeared to be an older man. Grey hair and black eyes. Thin lips and slumped shoulders. He twisted and shifted as his image burred then refocused.

_“Get out. Get out! GET OUT!”_

The candle flickered then went out. Suddenly, the flames in the fireplace when out followed by the sound of something sizzling and the smell of burning fish. The room fell into darkness. Dianna screamed and Martha burst into tears as she clung to Q.

Bond stood so fast he knocked his chair backwards and onto the floor. He rushed towards the kitchen and disappeared into the darkness.

“Martha, I need to . . .” Q tried to pull his cousin off himself.

“Ricky! No!”

“Let me go. I need to go with Bond!”

Martha let go as Q stood up and rushed from the room. He made it into the kitchen and quickly turned on the lights. The room was immediately illuminated with the soft overhead lightly. Everything looked normal. The door was closed and locked, the windows had their heavy curtains drawn close.

Q rushed from the room and into the hallway. Again he turned on the lights and nothing seemed amiss. The front door was closed and locked. The hallway was empty. No strangers, no specters. Q returned to the dining room to find the two woman clinging to each other. He turned on the lights and went to the fireplace. The logs inside were smoking as he glanced down at what had smothered the flames.

Seaweed. A pile of dark green seaweed steamed over the coals.

Q went to the sideboard and poured small snifter of brandy and quickly drank it. Then he refilled the glass and poured a second. He handed one to Martha and the other to Aunt Dianna. The room was still cool but was warming back up.

He went back into the kitchen. Bond already had the computer out and was reviewing the video feeds from the various cameras. There was nothing unusual in any of the cameras. No one sneaking onto the property. No strangers lucking near the house. The doors had remained locked. The windows were untouched.

“I don’t understand.” Q said.

Bond left the computer and went to kneel on the floor. Q followed him to see what Bond was looking at. Suddenly, Q felt his world tip sideways. Across the flagstone floor were wet footprints. Several leading from the wall beside the stove, across the room and towards the hallway.

Q stood back unable to understand what he was looking at. Nothing made sense anymore. The room was empty. The doors were locked. There was no way anyone could have snuck into the kitchen, but the wet footprints across the floor were still there. Someone or something had somehow materialized in a locked room then disappeared.

"Q, I know you don't want to hear this, but I think you have a ghost." Bond said staring at the footprints.


	7. Please Call me James

Bond had searched outside the house twice before he came back in and locked the doors again. Q had finally convinced his cousin to go to her room to go to bed. She only agreed to go to sleep if and only if Q stayed with her in the room. Aunt Dianna was too distraught to leave and had gone to Martha’s parents’ room to sleep. The bedroom door firmly locked.

Q sat in an overstuffed chair with the laptop resting on the arm as he reviewed the video feeds again. Bond knocked softly on the door and then opened it. Bond glanced to the woman sleeping on the bed. Martha was still dressed in her clothes with a simple blanket covered her. Q waved Bond into the room.

“Anything?”

“No,” Bond said softly.

“I don’t understand.” Q whispered.

“Could someone have hacked into the feed and inserted a loop?” Bond asked as he leaned over Q’s shoulder. The camera feeds still showed no unexpected visitors.

“No, it’s a closed system. No access.” Q growled.

The woman on the bed moaned slightly as the two men spoke. Q closed the laptop and handed it to Bond. He stood up and two left Martha alone.

Out in the hallway Bond asked. “Is she going to be alright?”

“I gave her something to help her sleep. I doubt there will be any more disturbances tonight so maybe by morning she will be better.”

The two men when to Q’s room. Bond set the computer down on a table while Q sat down on the bed.

“Please tell me that it was some kind of hoax. Some kind of trick.” Q said as he leaned back against the headboard. His broken arm was hurting and his head was pounding.

“I wish I could but it was a hell of a good one.” Bond said. “The water from the footprints smells like seawater.”

“How did the seaweed get into the fireplace?”

“I don’t know. Any hidden passageways or trap doors?” Bond asked.

Q shrugged. “It’s an old house. Maybe but I don’t remember any.” Then Q seemed to glance off to the side.

“What is it?” Bond asked.

“There are caves. Under the house. The island is riddled with them.”

“Sea caves?”

“Yes and old mines. They used to mine silver here. The place is honeycombed.”

“Is there a connection between the house and caves?” Bond asked thinking maybe that could be the answer.

“I don’t know.” Q leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes.

Bond watched him for a few moments then said softer. “When was the last time you slept?”

Q tipped his head up and looked at Bond. “For longer than five minutes? Back in London. Is this what it feels like on one of your missions. Exhaustion, frustration and fear mixed together?”

“Don’t forget the sex.” A teasing expression came to the blonde’s face.

Q groaned and closed his eyes. “Please don’t try and seduce my cousin, Bond. I don’t think I could handle listening to the two of you together.”

Bond frowned but Q didn’t noticed. Q tipped over and laid crosswise across the bed. He pulled a pillow under his head.

“My head is pounding. I can’t think anymore.”

Concerned Bond stood up and moved closer to the bed. “You said something about a concussion.”

“It was mild.” Q kept his eyes closed.

“What did the doctors say about sleeping? Could it be dangerous?”

Q rolled over onto his back and opened his eyes. He was surprised to see Bond standing over him. As he laid looking up at the man, Q suddenly realized Bond was with one of the most dangerous men in the world. Someone who was trained to kill silently and effectively. But Q wasn’t frightened of Bond. He felt safe and protected.

He had called and Bond came without question. Even when the idea of a ghost came up or Q’s crazy relatives, Bond agreed to help. Bond teased Q but he never laughed at him. Never doubted him. Never distrusted him. Q realized Bond would always be there for him in one way or another. Always trusting and being trusted. It felt like the most important connection Q had ever had with someone else.

“Bond, I . . .” Q stubbled over his words and took a moment to readjust his thoughts. “I realize this isn’t the holiday you wanted.”

“Maybe.” Bond said still standing over Q, looking down at him.

“I mean, you wanted to be some place warm. A beach somewhere with a drink in your hand. A – a beautiful woman on your arm. I’m sorry I dragged you here.”

“I’m not sorry, Q. Life is too short for sorry. Besides, I can always go to that beach later. It will still be there waiting for me. But to have our favorite Quartermaster tossed down a flight of stairs by a poltergeist is unacceptable.”

Q got hung up on the word ‘favorite’.

“I promise to make this up to you somehow. I don’t know how, but I promise I will.” Q babbled for a moment.

Bond smiled and nodded his head. “I’m not worried. Now, why don’t you get some sleep. Kip over for a moment.”

Q blinked rapidly. “What?”

“Scoot over. I’ll stay up beside you and wake you once an hour to make sure you’re okay. But you need to sleep right now. You’re making me tired just watching you.”

“You don’t need to,” Q protested even as he moved over to make room for Bond to lay down beside him.

“Yes, I do. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen.” Bond stretched out and leaned his head and shoulders against the headboard. “Get some sleep and in the morning we’ll find your ghost.”

Q rolled over on his side, facing away from Bond. He seemed completely awake now as he felt the warmth radiating off the other man.

“You know you can call me Rick.” Q said quietly.

Bond hummed. “I’d like you to call me James.”

Q knew he would never fall asleep now. Not with Bond beside him. Not after being asked to call the man by his first name. Q knew he wouldn’t get any sleep, until he felt fingers stroking through his hair to wake him up.

It felt good. It felt wonderful. Like he was being cared for. Adored. He kept his eyes closed as he leaned into the touch and reveled in the sensation.

He smiled and purred as the fingers began to scratch softly at his scalp, “James?”

The peal of laughter was definitely female.

“No, sweety.” Martha giggled softly. “Time to wake up.”

Q’s eyes slammed open as he stared up at his cousin. Q shot out of bed. Glancing around rapidly, he fumbled for his glasses.

“Where is James – um – Bond?”

Martha laughed louder. “You do have it bad, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Q said as he finally got his glasses on his face.

He blinked owlishly at his younger cousin. She looked rested and relax. She was smiling and seemed more confident than she did the night before.

“You are absolutely besotted with him.”

“Who? Bond?”

“Of course, James. Who else would have you this tied up?”

Suddenly the image of Bond tying Q up came unbidden. He blushed as he felt a hot rush of want burn through him. 

Q sighed and slumped his shoulders. “It’s not what you think, Martha. Well it is but it isn’t. Bond and I work together. And yes, I find him attractive.”

“I can agree to that. He is gorgeous.”

“But it’s nothing more than simple flirting. Well at least on his part it’s nothing more.”

“It doesn’t seem that way to me.”

“I realize this is difficult but I’m his boss – kind ‘a of. And I can’t because I’m his boss and Bond just won’t because he’s James Bond.”

“Are you sure?” asked Martha confused by the second statement.

Q nodded his head. “I’m sure. Bond wouldn’t be interested in me.”

Martha frowned and wondered why her cousin was being so dense. Anyone could tell something was up by the way Bond watched him. She wrapped her arms around Q’s shoulders. “I still love you.”

“And I love you, darling.” He kissed her cheek. “So where is the man, himself?”

“Downstairs. You didn’t tell me he was a wizard in the kitchen. Best breakfast I’ve have in years.”

“A wizard? There are many words I would use to describe Bond, but wizard isn’t one of them.”

“You will need to tell me those words one night after we crack the seal on a bottle of rum.” Martha took Q’s elbow of his unbroken arm and directed him towards the door.

“I might need to two bottles.” Q teased back. Both laughed as they headed to the kitchen.

When Q walked in he looked at his aunt and sighed. The older woman was leaning close to James. Her eyes were bright and focused on him. A pale shade of pink colored her wrinkled cheeks. She smiled as she hummed.

“Oh Mister Bond, you say the naughtiest of things.”

“Call me James.” He rumbled back in a deep seductive voice.

A sudden stab of jealousy spiked through Q. He remembered laying on the bed next to Bond.

_“I’d like you to call me James.”_

Q knew it was irrational. Bond was being Bond. And this morning he was using the full force of his charm on Q’s unsuspecting aunt.

Q watched as the pale pink of Dianna’s cheeks deepened into a rose red. Dianna rested her hand over James’ on the table.

“James, you are the devil himself.” Dianna purred back to the man.

Q cleared his throat loudly and glared at the other man. James simply smiled back at Q. A smug expression of victory.

“How’s the head this morning?” Bond asked as Q stepped over and poured himself a cup from the kettle.

“I think the headache is returning.” Q poured a full teaspoon of honey into his tea. “Anything on the ghost front?”

Bond leaned back in his chair as Dianna began to speak.

“The spirits have not been in communication with me this morning.” Dianna said commandingly.

Q allowed himself to roll his eyes because his back was to her.

“Anything evidence of our visitor from last night?” Q asked.

“No sign that any of the doors or windows were tampered with. I put a small piece of cellophane tape over the seams of each and none of it was broken this morning.”

It was an old espionage trick that still worked. Q rubbed his eyes as he sat down.

“James has an idea.”

“I’m sure he does.” Q said cynically. Only Bond caught the tone of the Q’s voice.

“He’s suggested that Martha come and stay with me at my house while the two of you stay here and try to contact Robert again.”

“The person we saw last night didn’t look much like Uncle Robert.” Q said.

“Of course he looked like my husband. I would know Robert anywhere.” Dianna protested.

“Even a dead Robert.” Bond taunted but the woman didn’t catch it. She simply patted James’ arm and continued.

“When this is settled and Martha and I come to an agreement, then you can leave.” Dianna said, then she turned to James. “Unless you find something . . . attractive and want to stay here for a longer visit.”

“I can leave?” Q raised an eyebrow at the older woman, ignoring the direct invitation towards Bond.

“I’m sure your parents miss you and want to see for Christmas.” Dianna glanced back at him.

“But Ricky said he was staying here with me through Christmas and into the New Year. We have a lot of catching up to do.” Martha interrupted.

“Whatever you decide as long as Martha comes the realization that this is as much my house as it is hers.” Dianna patted James’ arm again. “Come along, James. You can walk me back to my house.”

James and Dianna walked out of the kitchen leaving Martha and Q alone.

“At least she finally included me in the ownership of my own house.” Martha quibbled. “Or mine for the time being.”

“What do you mean?” Q asked.

“It’s just getting so difficult to stay.” Martha frowned.

“I thought you loved it here?”

“I do, but it’s so very difficult.”

“The farm?”

“There is a lot of work to do here but I’m alone. I used to be able to hire men to help with the planting and harvesting. But there aren’t as many young people on the island who want to do farm work. I tried to get fieldhands from Spain and France to come over and help but with Brexit, I won’t be able to do that either. I’m at my wit’s end and now there is a ghost trying to drive me away . . .” Martha sighed and hid her face in her hands. “Now, I just don’t know if I can keep going by myself.”

“Martha, we will find out who is doing this and then we find a solution for the future. I know you love this place and I don’t want you to give it up just because of few pranks. And as for the planting and harvesting, well there are other things you can do to keep this place other than farming. You could turn it into a bed and breakfast or so other kind of tourist spot. Maybe a restaurant. Don’t give up just yet.”

Martha wiped her tears away from her face. “Ricky, you always know just what to say to me. I’ve missed you so much.”

She threw her arms around Q and the two hugged until they heard Bond coughing slightly at the open door.

“Her ladyship would like to take the trap into town.” Bond said softly so only Q and Martha heard him.

Martha and Q smiled.

“Town?” Q gasped. “What town?”

~Q~

Dianna’s house was a small stone cottage on the corner of two different lanes. A low field stone wall around the front of the property made sure that cart and tractors didn’t cut across her small front garden. A larger and proper garden was behind the cottage where vegetables and flowers were planted. A small glassed in greenhouse was placed at the very back of the garden next to a tall privet hedge.

Martha pulled the Briny and the cart up to the front gate. James hopped out of the trap first and held out his hand to help Dianna down. The older woman smiled broadly and winked at Bond as he helped her down.

“You are such a gentleman, James,” she gushed.

Q couldn’t help himself. This time he rolled his eyes in front of her.

Martha started to hand the reins over to Q. “Are you sure you can drive Briny back to the house?”

“Yes, I remember how to do this.” Q smiled at his cousin.

Martha carefully moved to the back of the trap and started to climb out. James placed his hands on her waist and gently lifted her off the narrow step and set her on the ground. Martha smiled and blushed as she thanked him.

“Get your hands off her,” growled from behind Bond and Martha.

“What?” gasped Martha as she and Bond turned to see Malcom walking towards them.

“How dare you.” Malcom snarled.

“Malcom! What is wrong with you?” Martha chided.

“Get away.” Malcom stepped between Bond and Martha.

“I was only helping the lady down off the cart.” Bond said calmly.

“Yeah, I could tell what you were helping yourself to.” Malcom growled.

Bond seemed indifferent towards the angry man. His face unreadable but Q knew Bond was sizing the man up for a fight. A quick and dirty fight in which Malcom would come out bloody if not dead.

“Malcom!?” Martha shouted.

“We don’t want your kind of help around here.” Malcom continued. “You and the German should leave!”

“We’re not going anywhere.” Bond said quietly. The menacing threat present in each word.

Malcom puffed out his chest and took a step towards Bond. Q watched as Bond took a step to the side to widen his stance and started to twist his body ready to attack.

“NO, BOND!” Q shouted. Just at the same time Frédéric came up the hill from the harbor.

“GRANT!” Frédéric yelled. “Stop whatever bull you are trying to start!”

Frédéric marched up to the two men and stepped between the two of them.

“Good you’re here. I don’t have to send someone to get the two of you.” Frédéric said, glaring at Bond and Q. “You claimed you were MI5. I contacted them. They’ve never heard of you.”

“No, we never claimed to work for MI5.” Bond said.

“You told me you worked for them!” Malcom shouted.

“No we did not. We said we worked for the government. We were governmental enforcement. You made the comparison to MI5.” Bond said as unemotionally as he could.

“You make it sound like you’re some kind of spy or something,” joked Frédéric.

“Something like that.” Bond said indifferently.

Frédéric looked up at Q still sitting in the cart holding the reins.

“He doesn’t look much like a spy.” Frédéric teased.

“I didn’t say spy and what does a spy look like? Q could be the most dangerous person you’ve ever met. Never judge a threat by its wooly jumper.”

Q felt his stomach twist. Somehow Bond had not only complimented him but also pulled him into what was looking like a major physical altercation.

Frédéric eyes flickered back and forth between Bond and Q. He was contemplating whether the two really were a threat. If Bond and Q were dangerous or just play acting. For a brief moment, Q wondered how he was going to explain to M how he and Bond had killed the Connétable and the Vingtenier of the Isle of Sark. Then Frédéric smiled and laughed.

“Yeah, right. He looks like a real killer, doesn’t he.” Frédéric elbowed Malcom but Malcom was still glaring at Bond. “Com’on. I want to speak to the two of you. At the harbor.”

He walked around Bond up to Briny’s bridle. He grabbed the horse’s headstall and started to pull the animal forward. The cart rattled forward and Bond and Malcom walked behind the cart as Frédéric led it down the Harbor Hill to the ferry station.

In the small carpark by the docks, Frédéric stopped the horse and told Q to get down. Q stood next to Bond as Frédéric stared at them. He pointed out at one of the boats in the harbor. It was an attractive schooner. It was long and elegant. At least fifty foot. The Danish flag flew over the stern.

“You know that boat?” Frédéric asked.

Bond and Q looked at it. Q shook his head as Bond said, “Never seen it before.”

“It’s been here before. But last time it had a French flag and a different name painted on her. But I recognized her anyway. You can’t fool me.”

Bond and Q didn’t react. Frédéric continued.

“Smugglers. They like to use the caves around the island. Cigarettes, alcohol, drugs. I’ve chased them out of here before. If I have to, I’ll chase them out of here again. And anyone who is helping them.”

Bond and Q remained unimpressed.

“You going to be leaving soon?” Frédéric asked.

“No.” Bond said.

Malcom took a step forward but Frédéric waved him back.

“Are you working with those smugglers?”

“My cousin called us here. She has been threatened. We won’t leave until we find out who is doing it and make them stop.” Q said.

“You’re going to stop them? You?” Frédéric looked doubtful.

“Yes.” Bond said somberly. “Us.”

Frédéric stared at them for a moment more, then burst out in loud raucous laughter. It took several seconds before Malcom caught on and laughed with his boss. Frédéric waved Bond and Q way like they were some kind of annoying insects. Bond grabbed the reins and started to guide Briny back up the hill towards Dianna’s house.

At the top of the hill, Martha and Dianna were waiting anxiously.

“Is everything alright?” Martha asked as the cart rattled closer.

“Yeah, everything is fine but you should warn your boyfriend to never threaten Bond again if he knows what’s good for him.” Q offered.

“Boyfriend?! Not after that display!” Martha argued.

Bond twisted and looked over his shoulder and back at the yacht in the harbor. He turned back to Martha and asked.

“Martha, is there any way to get from the house down into the sea caves?”


	8. Nothing Like a Little Self Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James picks up on a clue.

The inside of Dianna’s house was quaint and old-fashioned. Only five rooms made up the living area of the house. There was a front room and a kitchen. Two bedrooms and one bathroom. That was all. The entire house would fit into a quarter of the space that Martha lived in. The kitchen had a small window that looked out onto the back garden and an old-school Dutch door led the way. A small table stood in the corner of the room with a blue and white checked tablecloth. The bedrooms were simple too but comfortable. The front room had two overstuffed chairs placed in front of the fireplace. A small table was placed between them. In the corner of the room was a small secretary desk with antique lock. On the top of the desk was a framed picture of Dianna and her husband, Robert. Bond glanced at the photo and knew Q was correct. The ghost didn’t look like Robert.

Dianna brought two kitchen chairs out into the sitting room so everyone could sit down. She and Martha took the comfortable chairs while Bond and Q sat on the straight-back wooden ones.

“There have never been a way to get from the house down to the caves.” Martha answered Bond’s question.

“Is there any connection between the caves and the farm?” Bond asked.

“No, not that I know of. I mean the caves on this side of the island are accessible by the sea. You can swim into them or paddle into then with a boat, but there is no foot path in.”

“And the mines?” Bond asked.

“Those were sealed up years ago. Almost a hundred and fifty years ago. I don’t even know where the entrances were.”

Bond thought for a moment as Q wondered what Bond was looking for.

“You think that someone is using the caves to get into the house?” Q asked.

“The doors and windows weren’t touched last night but somehow someone got in.” Bond said.

“Why won’t you admit the truth? It was a ghost we saw last night. It had to be.” Martha said.

“It was Robert! He wants the house he was denied in live.” Dianna interrupted.

Q struggled to not shout at the woman. “It wasn’t Robert. Whoever that was, he didn’t look like Robert.”

Martha looked pensive. “You know – I don’t really want to say this, but he did kind of looked my grandfather.”

Q stared at Martha. The young woman had a thoughtful expression on her face.

“It’s not your grandfather or your father either, darling.” Q said as calmly as he could. “Your father made sure you would inherited the farm. He didn’t want anyone else to have it. Why would anyone in the family want you to leave? It’s someone else. But it not a ghost.”

“How can you say that after what we saw last night. If it wasn’t a ghost, explain how the room got so cold or who that was in the doorway. Or how did the candle go out or the seaweed in the fireplace!” Martha’s voice took on a tremble.

“I don’t know but it wasn’t a ghost!” Q finally shouted and scared the two women. 

Both looked shocked at him. Q realized he had made a mistake. He shook his head and placed his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to yell, but can we please get passed this idea of a ghost. There is no such thing as ghosts. Someone of flesh and blood is doing this to you and we need to figure out who and why.”

Dianna huffed and turned to Bond. “James, you believe in ghosts, don’t you?”

“I think it is ridiculous to believe in absolutes. Anything is possible. Anything. But let’s start to the reasonable before we go after a phantasm. Is there anything unusual about the house that would make it important to someone other than you, Martha.”

Dianna sat up and started to speak, but Bond stopped her.

“Other than Robert’s claim on the property.” Bond said giving Dianna an encouraging look. Dianna smiled back at him.

Martha scrunched up her face as she thought.

“I can’t think of anyone. It is the largest house on the island before the Barclays built theirs. Some people have been interested in buying it.”

“Has there been any offers to buy it lately?” Q asked.

“Well, there was one, but I turned them down. It was way to low and they were French.”

Bond looked at Q. “They don’t like the French around here either?”

“You don’t understand.” Martha started. “It’s not that they were French as much as I got the feeling that they didn’t want to live on the island. They just wanted the house for holidays and such. They would live in France and only visit. They were only going to spend occasional weekends here. The house and farm needs to be tended to daily.”

“Any other offers? Someone on the island maybe interested in buying it?” Q asked.

“No, no one.”

“Is the land itself valuable? Or is there something unique about the house?” Bond asked.

Martha and Dianna shook their heads no. Bond looked at Q.

“You said that the house was rebuilt after Napoleon. What was there before?”

Q looked confused for a moment then said. “Well, the family stories is that this house was built around 1820. Before that there was another house – a very old house. The original flagstone floor is under the hardwood floors. But there were no drawings of the old house. No descriptions that I know of.” He glanced at his cousin. “Do you know of any?”

Again she shook her head. “If there had been any records about the house they would have been kept in the church, but Napoleon burned the church down. Anything stored there was destroyed. St Peter was rebuilt the same time as the house. Two hundred years ago.”

“But the new house is build on the foundation of the old house and the old house had no connections to the caves or the mines?” Bond asked.

“I don’t know anything about the old house but the house standing now has nothing under it’s floors.” Martha said.

“That’s not true.” Dianna interrupted.

Everyone turned and looked at her. She gave them a crooked smile.

“There had been a cellar at one time. A root cellar. My grandfather had it sealed off.”

“Why?” Q asked having never been told there had been a cellar in the house. Martha even seemed surprised by the news.

“It was before I was born. It was just after World War II. He had the cellar sealed off. Bricked closed, I think. My mother said it was because it he claimed it was unsafe, but I think it was because of Aunt Martha and her German lover.”

“My grandparents?” Q asked.

“Yes, apparently that is where the two of them hid when he ran away from the Nazi. Aunt Martha and Peter hid in the cellar as the Germans evacuated the island. Then when the British troops showed up, Peter and Martha came out and surrendered. He was put into a POW camp and she had to face her mother and father. Grandfather was so angry he had the entrance bricked up.”

“Do you know where it was?” Bond asked.

“No, like I said it was gone when I was born in 1952. I have no idea where it would be.”

Q looked up at Bond and saw a smile blooming on Bond’s face.

“You have an idea.” Q said with certainty.

“I think I know where to find your ghost, Q.”

~Q~

Bond and Q left the two women at Dianna’s house and took Briny and the cart back to the farm. Bond watched, amazed, as his tech savvy Quartermaster skillfully handled the pony and the cart. Steering the animal by it’s reins with one hand.

“This is something I would never have pictured you being good at, Q.” He said as the cart skillfully made the turn up the gravel lane to the Martha’s house.

Q smiled. It was the same smile he had used the first time they had met at the National Gallery. The smile that said, _‘you’ll be completely blown away by me.’_ Bond had considered it false bravado but came to learn that the depths of his Quartermaster’s skill and determination were only surpassed by the man’s loyalty.

“My uncle taught me when I was ten. Every year, when we came back to the island, I couldn’t wait to drive the pony cart. I can’t have a horse in London, but I would love to get one and small trap. Go down the country roads out of the city.”

He drove the cart into the barn yard and pulled Briny to a halt. Bond climbed out of the cart and Q carefully followed him, making sure he didn’t tangle the reins as he climbed down. Then Q expertly explained how to disconnect the pony from the cart and then remove the harness from the animal. Bond watched, smiling the whole time.

“I think the next time we go on holiday together, I will have to pick somewhere where you can have a pony and cart. Can you ride too?”

Q stumbled as he was hanging the harness up in the barn.

“Holiday together?”

“It would be nice if it were someplace warm. They ride horse on the beaches in Jamaica.”

“I – I never actually ridden a horse. Only been in a cart.” Q head was spinning. _What was Bond talking about?! Going on a holiday together?_ He decided he misunderstood what was being said.

“I sun burn easily.” He said dismissing the idea of Jamaica. Q would happily endure the pain of the third-degree sunburn to be on a beach with Bond. But he thought it would be better to put the idea completely out of his head before he began to fixate on it.

“I’d be happy to rub suntan lotion over your skin for you.” Bond said in a seductive tone.

Q snorted a laugh as his mind latched onto the image of Bond doing just that. His broad rough hands rubbing oil across his skin and moving his hands lower across Q’s back and abdomen. Teasing and taunting Q as his hands dipped lower.

Q could feel the heat in his cheeks as they reddened. He hoped Bond would think it was from the cold wind and not the arousal Q was regrettably feeling at that moment.

“When M learns we have been down here ‘ghost hunting’ I sincerely doubt he will let the two of us go anywhere together again. He may not even let us leave England at the same time.” Q said as he tried to deflect the obvious flirting that Bond was doing. Unsure why Bond was being so brazen.

Bond seemed to regard Q for a moment then frown slightly. “I must have misunderstood the parameters of the mission, Quartermaster.”

Bond sounded hurt. Q tripped over his own feet. Bond’s reflexes quicky caught the young man and steadied him back on his feet. Q turned and looked at Bond’s concerned face.

“Bond, why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

Q felt flustered. He didn’t know himself what he meant. He waved his hand over the area.

“This – all of it. Coming when I called. Helping us. Helping me. Caring?” the sound trailed off on the last word.

“You don’t think I care?” Bond asked.

“I . . . I . . .” Q stuttered. “You’re not supposed to.” He whispered.

Bond studied Q’s face closely. “I do care. More than you know. More than I realized until I got that call from you. You asked me to come and I knew I needed to be here for you. Just like you did for me when I asked you for help.”

“Is this to pay me back for helping you when you asked or is this something else? I mean it’s okay if you are just returning a favor. It’s great but unnecessary, but if it is something more, I really, really need to know.”

Bond looked at Q for a moment then reached up and cupped Q’s cheek with his cool hand. Q could feel is face warm again with blush as James watched him.

“It’s something more, Rick. I didn’t know it until you called. But apparently it’s been something more for a while now.”

“Oh!”

Q hated himself. Why couldn’t he come up with something more appropriate – more poetic to say to the man. He had been fantasizing about James Bond for years and here he stood mere inches away from the man after being told that James might, possible, probably have feelings for him, and all he could say was _‘Oh’_. Q could hit himself.

Bond’s smiled broadened and he seemed to be exhaling a laugh.

“Yeah, oh.”

“James, I – you are – I would like to go someplace warm with you and let you rub suntan lotion on me.”

Bond laughed louder and Q finally joined him in a giggle. He felt lightheaded and confused. Were they supposed to kiss now? Hug? Q felt separated from reality.

“After we find your ghost.” Bond leaned closer and kissed Q’s heated cheek. “We’ll plan something together.”

“Okay.” Q smiled back and the two men walked into the house, side by side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments welcomed and enjoyed.


	9. Knock Knock, Whose There?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q find the cellar and learn a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, everyone. Sorry I haven't been very diligent about getting chapters up. Just too many other things going on. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Thigs getting to be more convoluted and strange for James and Q. Please enjoy. PS. I'm waiting to see the guesses as to what is going on.

As soon as they walked into Martha’s house, Bond was on the alert. He grabbed Q’s arm and pulled him back behind himself. His eyes shifting rapidly from every open doorway and up at the stairs.

“James?” Q whispered.

“Someone’s been here.” He said as he reached under his jacket and removed his automatic from its holster.

Q’s eyes locked on the gun and his stomach dropped. He took another step backwards and reached for the doorknob.

“Stay right here.” Bond said quietly.

“Where are you going?” Q wanted to flee the house.

“To look around.”

Bond moved to his left and glanced through the door leading to the formal sitting room. He glanced around quickly then crossed the hall and went into the family room where Martha had set up the Christmas tree. He went further into the room and disappeared.

Q wanted to follow Bond. He strained to listen. Waiting for any sound and fearing it as equally. He wanted to call out and see where Bond was but he knew he couldn’t. He also wanted to leave. The idea of someone being inside the house waiting for them was disturbing.

Q took a deep breath to try and calm himself. He had handled missions calmly and efficiently. He could handle this as well. He glanced around tried to determine what Bond saw. What was it the let Bond know someone had been there.

The house looked normal at first glance. The front door had been locked. The windows were closed. The furniture was where it was supposed to be. The rooms looked the same as they had left. Then he noticed what Bond had noticed. The mail on the table in the hallway had been opened. Q felt a sudden stab of fear. He looked around again. What had he missed? The more he looked the more he picked up.

The blanket that was left folded on the back of the couch had fallen to the floor. The photos on top of the mantel had been shifted. The small secretary desk in the family room had its door-front opened and it appeared the contents had been shifted. .

Bond walked quietly from the back of the house and into the hallway. He nodded his head towards the stairs and Q stepped forward to follow him up. They moved quietly up the stairs but just before they reached the squeaky step, Q touched Bond’s shoulder and warned him. Bond stepped up on the higher step and together they snuck up to the hallway.

Bond went through each bedroom while Q waited at the head of the stairs. No one was there. The house was empty.

“Q, come in here.” Bond called out from the bedroom Q had been using.

Q moved quickly and looked around the room.

“Anything out of place?” Bond asked.

Q’s backpack was still hanging on the back of the chair. The drawer where he had placed his clothes were still closed. The bed was made but his messenger bag with his computer was now on the center of the small table and not in the chair where he left it.

“The messenger bag has been shifted.”

“Check the computer.”

Q went and removed the computer from the bag and turned it on.

“Did they get in?” Bond asked.

Q tapped the keys and shook his head no.

“The log says it was turned on and several attempts to get pass the security but no. They didn’t gain access.” Q felt relieved. He quickly went and reviewed the video feeds from the cameras. The cameras recorded the four of them leaving in the pony trap and James and Q returning. The cameras in the barn yard showed Q removing the harness from Briny and placing her out in her paddock. And then the camera by the front door showed James and Q walking up to the door. But no one else. Again there was no evidence of anyone outside the house or on the property, trying to get in. He pushed the computer back across the small table and rubbed his forehead.

“Nothing,” he said.

Bond looked around the room again. “Well, they are getting in somehow. Let’s go find that cellar.”

Q hesitated. He glanced back at his messenger bag before he grabbed it and searched it again.

“Bond . . .”

Bond turned back and looked at him. “What is it?”

“My gun – it’s missing.”

Bond moved closer and looked into the bag. “Why weren’t you carrying it. Regulations state MI6 executives are to carry weapons if they are not accompanied by a bodyguard whenever they leave England.”

Q narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to quote regulations to me?! You?!”

“Q, why weren’t you carrying it?”

“Because this is here.” He said as if the answer was perfectly clear to anyone. “This is were I grew up. This was Sark. It’s peaceful here. Nothing bad happens here.”

Bond’s face remained unreadable. “There’s no such place. What was it?”

“Sig-Sauer P226.” Standard military sidearm.

“I presume fully loaded.” Bond said. Q nodded his head. “Extra magazines?”

“No.”

“Well, that helps. We only have to worry about being shot at by the fifteen rounds.” Bond said sarcastically. “Please tell me it had a micro-dermal chip in it. Coded to your palm print?”

“Of course.” Q looked offended.

“So someone has a very unusual paperweight now. That’s good. Maybe they won’t realize it’s non-functioning until it’s too late.” Bond turned and walked out of the room leaving Q alone.

Q glared at the man. ‘ _So much for a blooming romance’_. He thought.

Q followed Bond down into the kitchen.

“We don’t even know where to look for the cellar. It was sealed up over seventy years ago.” Q said as he followed Bond into the kitchen.

Bond walked up to the wall beside the stove.

“The footprints started here.”

The two walls of the kitchen were stone and mortar, the other two were plaster and board. An oak wainscot ran along those two walls. It was almost five feet tall and stained dark brown. The Aga was inset in one of the walls with smooth tile bricks protecting the wooden walls from the heat.

Bond tapped on the wainscot and gently pushed on it. Nothing moved. The wall sounded solid. He checked the seams of the corners and noticed a small gap. He pulled out a small knife from his pocket. With a single deft move, he unfolded the blade from its handle and poked the point of the knife into the gap. He slid it down the seam of the corner until there was an audible click.

Instead of the wall moving, the tile bricks around the Aga shifted out. It was a narrow opening, but one they could get through.

“Apparently, when the house was updated with the Aga, they blocked the passageway.” Bond said as he pushed his head and shoulders into the narrow opening.

“Torch?” Bond asked.

Q moved to the kitchen drawers and started opening them. He found the torch in a bottom drawer. He tested the batteries. The light was weak but still worked. 

With his gun in his hand, Bond turned the light on and slowly entered into the cramp space behind the stove. Q followed him. His hand lightly pressed between Bond’s shoulder blades. Just a few feet into the passageway, Bond saw the stairs tuning to the left and following the edge of the outside wall. They led down. He carefully took a step and then another. The light from the torch was pathetic and only gave them a short view of a dozen or so feet in front of them.

Bond looked around, shining the light into the darkness. The corners and distance wall of the room was cast into shadows and gloom. They were in a large area built under the kitchen. There was set of wooden shelves up against a wall with discolored bottles and jars on it. There were broken wicker baskets and upturned wooden boxes. Rotting cloth and clothing clung to the clothesline. Nothing that wouldn’t be expected in an abandoned cellar.

The room was cool and moist feeling. The walls were white blocks – limestone. The floor was also laid out with the same limestone. At the top edges of the wall, black soot stained the white walls. Evidence of a fire in the past.

Bond stepped closer to the walls and started to run his hands across the stone blocks. The weak torch leading his fingertips in a path across the wall. They felt solid and unmovable.

“It’s more like a prison cell instead of a cellar. I can’t see how anyone came through theses.” He tapped on the stone blocks with the butt of the gun.

Q watched Bond’s hand slide along the wall then he saw something on one of the walls. Bond’s fingertips sliding over a flaw in the smooth stone.

“Stop! Shine the light back over here, James.”

Bond did as he was asked. In the block of limestone there was an indentation. A carving. It was a circle with what looked like a six petaled flower or leaf. Q’s fingers ran over the carving. He pulled out his phone and took a photograph of it.

He then grabbed the torch from Bond’s hand. He moved along the wall sweeping the light up and down until he found another mark. This one was a series of seven circles arranged so at the center of them was another six petaled flower. Q took another photograph.

“I need to make a call.” Q announced as he quickly moved towards the stairs.

“What is it?” Bond asked.

“Witch marks.”

“Never heard of them. What are they? What do they mean?”

“It means, this isn’t a house. It’s a church.”


	10. Witch Marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q have a quiet evening.

Bond and Q had emerged from the hidden cellar only seconds before Q was rapidly typing on his phone.

“What is so important about witch marks?” asked Bond. “And what the hell are witch marks?”

“They are carvings into stone or wood to protect a building and its inhabitants from witches.” Q said as he finished his text.

“And the presence of them in the basement somehow means this is a church?” Bond asked even more confused than he was before.

“They were usually carved near doorways or fireplaces to keep evil out. They were also carved in churches. Specifically near entrance or in the crypts.” Q said looking up at Bond.

The blonde slotted the information together.

“Those blocks of limestone down there – there’s no limestone here on the island.”

“No, mostly granite. But Caen is just 125 miles away. Caen had a massive quarry of beautiful white limestone. That is where the stones used to build Westminster Abby in the Middle Ages came from. I bet you those stone blocks in the cellar are from Caen.”

“You said your father had searched the island looking for a Norman Church. Something about William the Conqueror’s brother?”

“Half-brother, Odo. He was the Bishop of Bayeux. Which is between Sark and Caen. He would have access to the quarry and he was given this island by his brother, William, the first Norman king of England. It makes perfect sense. The reason my father never found the church is because it became the farm he was staying at.”

“But the church was burned by the French two hundred years ago.”

“Everyone assumed it was St Peter’s Church over on Greater Sark. Over the years everyone forgot there had to be another church. This is the one that the stain glass window must have been in. This is the church the French burned. This was the church my father had been searching for. It was here.” Q was becoming more and more excited.

“But that doesn’t explain why or who is trying to scare you cousin out of the house unless they want the church.” Bond said.

Q suddenly looked crushed. “No, it doesn’t. There’s no real value in the knowledge except to someone in academia.”

Q’s mobile started ringing. He glanced at the caller and sighed. His shoulders slumped.

“Hello.” Q said unenthusiastically. “Yes, father. We found them in the cellar of Aunt Madeline’s house. The room is made out of white limestone blocks.”

He waited while his father spoke.

“It was sealed up after the war. No one knew about it. Aunt Dianna remember hearing about it but didn’t know where it was.”

There was silence for a moment. The Q shook his head.

“No, don’t come now. Please. I can’t explain why but I need you and mother to stay in Cambridge, please. It’s necessary.” Silence for a moment. “I’m certain. Please, just trust me.” Another moment. “No one knows. And I won’t tell anyone. Gather together a team to properly investigate the room and the area but please wait until I give you the ‘all clear’.”

Q’s frown grew larger. His eyes took on a sad look. “Yes. I will. Don’t worry. Just stay put until I tell you it is safe.”

Q hung up the phone.

“Your father wants to be here now?”

“We might be able to hold him off for a day or two, but after that, he’ll drag down a dozen students with him and full team of archaeologists. We don’t have much time to find our ghost on top of the fact he will more than likely ruin Martha’s Christmas.”

“I think the ghost has already done that.”

“I should have known better than to tell him. I just thought he would be excited to learn he was right after all these years. I didn’t think he would demand to launch a full excavation immediately.”

“We need more light down there so we can better see down there.” Bond said. “I didn’t see another entrance but I’m positive that is how our ‘ghost’ is getting in here at night.” 

Q glanced up and gave a weak nod to his head. “I’ll call Martha and see if she can pick something up and bring out. Maybe there are some hand-held spotlights at the harbor shop.”

Q sat down at the kitchen table and called his cousin while Bond walked through the house again. If there was one secret passage there could be more. He tried to image what the original church would have looked like.

Bond knew Medieval churches were often laid out in the configuration of a cross. The alter was generally on the east side of the building. Martha’s house faced south and the long axis of the house was east west. That would but the alter in the family room. Probably under the fireplace. The nave would have been the formal sitting room and the dining room. The front hall with the staircase transected the house and would have been where the transept had been.

Q came in from the kitchen as Bond was inspecting the fireplace.

“Martha said the shop is presently closed at the harbor. Someone broke in and stole a load of dry ice.”

“Dry ice?” Bond asked looking up.

“Yes, they use it on the fishing boats. Malcom thinks it was kids or something like that. A prank.”

“Is Martha speaking to him?” Bond asked with a smile. He remembered how angry she was when the man became possessive of her.

“She told him he needed to apologies to both of us before she would speak to him again, but I think ‘the woman doth protest too much’.” A simple smile came to Q’s face. Bond returned the smile.

“Well, then, we really shouldn’t be wandering round in a dark basement with the possibility of falling into an abandoned well or sea cave without proper lighting and ropes. Therefore, I suggest dinner.”

Q’s eyes grew large. “Oh yeah, sorry. What would you like me to fix? I don’t really know what she has in the frig here? We could maybe open a tin of soup?”

“I made breakfast this morning. I know exactly what she has here.”

The two walked back into the kitchen.

Q nodded his head then asked, “Should we tell Malcom about the break in and the stolen gun?”

“A gun you can’t explain why you have it short of telling him you are an executive for MI6. Something you are expressly prohibited from doing except in a dire situation.”

Q frowned as Bond quoted another regulation to him.

“It’s a shame you can’t recall any of the regulations that apply to you.” Q snarked back at him.

Bond simply smiled smugly. “Whatever do you mean, Quartermaster?”

Before Q could answer him, Bond when outside and retrieved a log from the stack of firewood. He carefully wedged it between the door for the hidden passageway and the stove.

“That should slow down our visitor if they decide to visit tonight. How does alfredo sound for dinner?”

“Delicious.” Q said as he stared to the stout log blocking the door. “They could come in through a window or door.”

“Then we will get a good look at them with your clever little cameras. 

Q blinked at the comment and realized Bond was actually complimenting him instead of teasing him.

Bond set to work. He filled a large pot half full of water and set on the Aga. Then he pulled butter, cream, and parmesan cheese from the refrigerator.

Q watched intently as Bond worked. The man moved deftly through the unfamiliar kitchen like he had owned it himself. Bond didn’t follow any receipt that Q could see. It was if something had caught the man’s eye and he added a dash of that and pinch of something else. Bond cooked with same fluidity he did everything else. Assured in his results regardless of any obstacles.

The pasta was boiling in the water as Bond whisked garlic, lemon juice and anchovy paste together. He poured the salad dressing over the romaine lettuce then used a dish towel to mover the large pot of boiling pasta over to the sink and a colander. Within minutes, Bond and Q sat down to dinner of pasta with alfredo sauce and a Caesar Salad. Q had no idea how hungry he was until he was sitting before a meal prepared by James Bond. The sauce was delicious. Creamy and salty with a hint of pepper and garlic. He hummed in satisfaction. Bond gave him a smug smirk and sipped the wine he had found in the refrigerator.

“I take that is an approval?”

“Do I want to know how you learned to cook this well?” Q asked.

“I can’t eat out every night I’m not on a mission. It get’s expensive. And boring.” 

Q shivered at the thought of a bored Double ‘O’. He could only imagine the amount of destruction that could take place.

“I would be more than happy to keep you from getting bored,” Q said. Then blushed violently realizing how his offhanded comment sounded.

“Are you propositioning me, Q?” Bond teased.

“NO, no, I meant you could cook for me when ever you want. If you want to, I mean.

A soft expression came to Bond’s face. “That would be nice.”

After dinner and the washing up, Q and Bond went into the family room. Bond turned the light on the Christmas tree on while Q lit the fire. Q stared down at the catching tinder as Bond walked up behind him.

“Who are the people in those photos?” Bond nodded to the row of silver framed photos on top of the mantel.

“Family.” Q reached for one on the end. It was a colored photograph of three young people. Two boys and a girl. All gangly and tan. Wearing shorts and t-shirts.

One of the boys had dark hair while the other’s hair was a lighter shade of brown. The second boy was around seventeen looking with brilliant blue eyes. The girl had the same shade of light brown hair and the same blue eyes. Obviously related.

Bond looked at the photo for a moment then looked up at Q. “This is you, right?”

“I was fifteen. That’s Martha and the other boy is Norman, her brother.”

Bond looked down at the photo again. Q was a gangly long-limbed teenager. His hair was shorter than it was now and his face even narrower. He almost looked emaciated. But he was laughing and it wrinkled the corners of eyes. It was the expression of pure happiness.

“It looks like you were having a great summer.” Bond said smiling down at photo.

Q blushed slightly remembering that summer and the Danish sailor.

“Yeah, it was great.”

Bond set the photograph back down in the line of framed pictures. His eyes scanned along the other photos until he stopped and pointed to an older photograph. This one was back and white. It was four people. A man and woman in their forties or fifties and two younger people, male, and female.

“Who is this?”

Q glanced at the photo. “That was taken before the war. That’s my grandmother with her parents and her brother. Martha’s grandfather.”

Bond picked up the photo and studied the faces. Q’s grandmother had short hair. It was difficult to tell the actual color of it but it was it could have been light brown. Bond looked carefully at Q’s great-grandfather. He was tall and thin with round face. His son looked very much like him. The same face and body only on a younger person.

“Norman looked like your great-grandfather and your great-uncle.” Bond said as he set the photo down. “Are there any pictures of you grandfather, Peter?”

“Ah – no, there wouldn’t be. My great-grandfather was not happy about my grandmother running off with him. There aren’t any other photographs of my grandmother with her parents and her brother either. But here there is this one.”

Q reached for the last photo in the line of pictures. It was of two women. It was a colored photograph of two women. They both had the same coloring and the same pale brown hair. Both had bright smiles that covered their whole faces and bright intelligent blue eyes.

“This is my mother and Madeline, Martha’s mother.” Q said.

The two women could have been sisters instead of cousins.

“You took after your father instead of your mother in looks,” commented Bond as he looked at two women.

“Yeah, I guess so. We both have dark curly hair and green eyes.”

Bond looked up fondly. “I like green eyes.”

Q could feel his cheeks warm with a blush.

Bond handed the photograph of Q’s mother back to him. Bond’s attention returned to photograph of Q’s grandmother and great-grandfather.

“Is there a picture of your great-grandfather when he was older?” Bond asked.

Q frowned and thought. “Maybe – I think it might be . . .”

He moved over to a table in the corner of the room. He opened a drawer and shuffled the contents around until be pulled out an old photo album. The album was made of simple black paper with the photographs actually glued to each page. The paper was brittle and cracked as the pages were turned, so Q took great caution.

He came to a professional portrait photograph of his great-grandfather that was taken in the early sixties. The man was sitting in a classic three-quarter turn towards the camera. He was wearing a grey suit and a dark tie. His round face was still thin and his aged skin looked doughy. His light brown hair was now wispy and thin. A pale silvery grey. His eyes were incredibly cool and indifferent. His expression was stern.

Bond studied the photograph then quietly asked. “Does he remind you of anyone?”

Q looked confused for a moment then looked carefully at the photo. The same pale face and grey hair. The same cold stare.

“Oh my God!” Q gasped. “The ghost! But it can’t be! How!”

“It’s the same face.” Bond said. “The same shape of the head - the same eyes.”

“But how?”

“Someone must know a lot about your family’s history.”

“It’s a small island. I’m sure there are a lot of people who know bits and pieces about it.” Q said.

“And what about that cellar down there? How many of them would know about that?”

Q frowned. “I don’t know. It can’t be many – if any.”

Bond stared down at the sixty-year-old photograph. The man frowned back at Bond. Carefully, Bond closed the album and slipped it back into the drawer.

“Come and sit with me on the couch.” Bond hummed at Q.

“What?”

“Come sit with me. There comes a moment in every mission where you find yourself without proper resources, equipment, and intel. A point where you need to sit down and consider your options. What would be the best route to complete your mission. We are at that point. Come sit with me on the couch.”

He gently pulled Q over and the two sat down. Bond situated the two of them side by side. Bond brought his arm up over Q’s shoulder, laying on top of the couch’s back. The two men stared at the fire. Q shifted uneasily.

“You don’t think that it could be an actually ghost? I mean, how would they know how to get a photograph of Grandpa Wadard?”

“I don’t believe they used a photograph but neither do I believe it is a ghost. Someone wants Martha out of here and for some reason needs her to think it is a dead relative.”

Q shivered next to Bond.

“Are you cold?” Bond asked.

“No, not really.”

Bond shifted and pulled Q closer. He started to ask questions about Q’s time on the island. He asked about the natural pools and the beaches on the south side of the island. He asked about Q’s parents. Anything to get Q’s mind off the danger around them. They didn’t talk about ghosts or burglars or secret passages. Slowly Q relaxed and leaned slightly into Bond’s shoulder. Resting his head in the crook.

They watched as the fire burned in the grates and the lights from the tree cast a rainbow of color around them. Slowly the conversation ebbed and the two sat comfortably in companiable silence.

Q had often wondered what an evening with the famous James Bond would be like. He always picture it with himself in a ridiculously uncomfortable tuxedo sipping vodka martinis. Q hated vodka. They would be at some fancy ballroom surrounded by incredibly beautiful people who were vain, self-absorbed, and dangerous. There of course would be a gun fight. But Q would be willing to put up with the tuxedo and the vodka and the gun fire if it meant he could spend an evening with James.

He never expected this. The two of them, sitting together, enjoying each other’s presences without saying a word. All that was missing was James holding his hand.

Then he noticed, James was holding his right hand. James’ thumb was softly stroking across the back of Q’s knuckles.

“Bond . . .”

“Please call me James.” Bond whispered.

“James.” Q coughed softly to cover up the croak of his voice. The simple word seemed to catch in his throat. “James, I’m sorry if this isn’t the type of evening you’re used to having.”

James hummed softly. “What type of evening do you suppose I have?”

“Well, maybe black tie and a beautiful woman. The symphony or late supper with martinis?” Q hated how much he sounded jealous and childish.

“Maybe ten years ago. Now, my average evening when I’m not on a mission is by myself with a good book and reheated takeaway.”

“Really?” Q twisted slightly to see James’ face in his periphery.

“Yes. What about you?”

“Reading a book with a cat on my lap.”

“Lucky, cat.” James hummed.

James pulled Q back further in his shoulder. Q turned his head to rest it on the other man’s chest. Q felt Bond shift, then the light drag of fingers in his hair.

“So this is alright. I mean just the two of us sitting here watching the fire?” Q asked.

“On a Christmas night, I think it’s kind of perfect.”


	11. Curiosity Killed the Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and Bond return to the basement to find something bad.

Bond and Q were finished feeding the farm animals when Malcom and Martha came up the drive. Martha was smiling but it was obvious that Malcom would have preferred to be somewhere else. Any where else than here with Bond.

“Good morning.” Martha said brightly. “Did you two have a fun night together?”

Q could see the glint in Martha’s blue eyes. She fought to keep her smile neutral but the corners of her mouth fought to curl up towards her eyes.

“Yes, we did.” Q said sharply. “In separate rooms.”

“Oh – pity.” Martha teased back.

Bond huffed out a small laugh and winked at Martha as Malcom watched – confused.

“We brought some marine spot-lights.” Martha continued. “They are very bright and battery operated.”

“Perfect.” Bond said as he took the large handheld light from the woman. It like a large hand mirror but instead of the mirror, there was a concave glass over a powerful LED lightbulb. The concave lens focused the beam of light at a distance from the source but would still be able to illuminate anything between the light and that point.

“Where is this secret room you found? Anything in it?” asked Malcom.

“We couldn’t see much last night. Martha’s torches weren’t very good.” Q said. “But we think it might have been something more important than a cellar.”

“Why would a room under a house be important?” Malcom asked.

“It might not be a room under a house.” Q said.

“I don’t understand,” said Malcom.

Bond smiled. “I’m sure you say that a lot.”

Malcom made a deep gruff sound in the back of his throat and glared at Bond. Bond just kept his smug expression as he returned Malcom’s stare. Q shook his head and reached for one of the spotlights.

“Com’on you two, let’s go find our ghost.”

Bond and Malcom followed Martha and Q into the house. Q immediately went to the kitchen. Bond removed the log that was keeping the hidden door shut.

“What was that for?” asked Malcom.

“We know that whoever has been getting into the house has not done so by a door or a window. This is the only access we don’t have eyes on. There must be some way to get to the basement from the outside, then they could enter the house.” Q said as he checked to see if the spotlight was in working order.

With the lamps lit, the four people descended the steps into the darkness. Bond held one spotlight and Q held the other. As soon as they entered the large room, the lights illuminated the space. They reflected off the white limestone and brought light into every corner.

But no one was looking at the corners of the room. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the body laying on the floor.

Malcom moved first as Q and Bond stayed back. Martha reached up and took Q’s hand covered partly by his cast. Her other hand was over her mouth, holding a gasp of shock back.

It appeared to be a man. Khaki trousers, wool shirt, and muddy Willies. Malcom hesitated over the body, before he knelt down and looked into the bloody face. Q could see the shift from fear and disgust to resolve and anger on Malcom’s face. He rose to his feet and turned to glare into the light.

“It’s Frédéric. He’s dead.”

Q was confused. He glanced at Bond for a moment. Bond was still and unreadable. Q didn’t know what Frédéric was doing there. He couldn’t understand why Frédéric had tricked them. The man must have know how to get into the house. He must have known about the secret passage because here he was, but why?

Malcom took a step forward. There was a scraping sound – metal over stone. He looked down. He had kicked something. Malcom reached down and picked up a Sig-Sauer P226. Q recognized it immediately. His stomach dropped. Malcom studied the gun for a moment then looked back up at Bond and Q.

“Is this yours?”

Q started to answer him when Bond interrupted. “No, never saw it before.”

“Frédéric’s skull is crushed in. This gun is covered with blood.” Malcom accused.

“It wasn’t us.” Bond said.

“You said you were here all night. You must have known he was here. You must have heard something – if not actually murdered him yourself!”

“If we killed the man, would we have brought you down here to the body?” Bond said calmly.

Malcom was anything but calm. Bond’s unemotional response only fueled Malcom’s anger and aggression more.

“You’re coming with me to the jail. I need to call the authorities from Guernsey to come take this over, but you are going to be under arrest until I can hand you over to them.”

“Malcom, no . . .” Martha pleaded.

Malcom stepped forward and grabbed Bond’s upper arm. Bond immediately twisted while grabbing for Malcom’s wrist. In one well-practiced and smooth movement, Bond removed Malcom’s hand and twisted the man’s arm up behind his back. He kicked out and hit Malcom’s knee, causing Malcom to fall to the floor, with a grunt. Immobile and restrained.

“James!” Q shouted as Malcom screamed out in pain.

“You fucker! LET GO!”

Bond held the man down for another few seconds. Hesitating long enough to let Malcom know he was completely at Bond’s mercy. He let go of Malcom’s wrist and stepped back. Malcom remained on the floor, panting as he tried to regain his composure. Slowly he stood up and pointed the bloody gun at Bond.

“I should kill you for that,” hissed Malcom.

Q could see the yellow lights across the back of the frame. It was most definitely Q’s missing gun.

“Malcom, that gun won’t fire. But pulling the trigger would be considered attempted murder. Do you sincerely want to go to jail?” Q asked.

Malcom glared at Q. “I’m the vingtenier of Sark. My Connétable is laying dead over there and this is the gun that killed him.”

“He wasn’t shot. And he wasn’t killed by either James or me. You can arrest us if you must, but we will be released before the end of the day. And threating us with an un-useable gun will only get you into trouble.”

Malcom huffed out a laugh of disbelief.

“Trust me, Malcom. I know what I’m talking about.” Q persisted.

“If the two of you didn’t kill Frédéric, who did?” Malcom spat out.

“Probably the same person whose been trying to scare Martha out of this house.” Bond said cynically.

“You shut the fuck up. I can still arrest you for assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest.” Malcom glared at Bond.

Martha stepped forward. “Please Malcom. Please stop. It can’t be Ricky. He’s my cousin. I don’t want to be down here any longer. I don’t want to be in this house any longer. Please just take me back to Aunt Dianna’s.”

Concern flashed across Malcom’s face for a brief moment then disappeared. He lifted the gun and pointed it at Bond.

“You and the German walk ahead of Martha and me. We don’t want our heads bashed in too.” He waved the gun towards the stairs.

Q raised his hands slightly in mock surrender. “No one is going to harm anyone here. We are all going upstairs and call the authorities over on Guernsey. They can be here in an hour or two. And they can take over the body and the investigation.”

Q was lying. As soon as he reached his phone he was calling Tanner. The last thing Q and Bond wanted was for the local police to be investigating the two of them. He turned and looked at Bond.

“We are going upstairs together, right James? No problems. I will see to it.”

Bond turned and gave Q a certain look that told the young man that the agent understood. He gave a quick nod of his head. He turned his back to Malcom and started for the stairs. Q fell in behind Bond but twisted his body to keep Malcom in his periphery. Malcom reached over and wrapped his arm around Martha’s waist while he held the inactive gun on Q and Bond. He either didn’t notice the lights or he didn’t understand what they were.

When they reached the kitchen, Malcom waved the gun towards the front of the house.

“Keep walking.” Malcom menaced.

“Why?” Bond said.

“Because you are going to our jail to wait for the police from Guernsey.”

“No.” Bond said calmly.

“I said move it.” Malcom raised the gun and pointed at James’ face.

Even though Q knew the gun wouldn’t fire, he felt the need to stop Malcom and save James.

“Malcom!” Q took a step forward blocking Malcom’s aim. 

“No, Q.” Bond said pushing Q back out of the way.

“I said move.” A deep threatening growl came out of Malcom.

“I’ll come with you but you leave Ricky and his cousin here.” Bond said coolly.

“I’m giving the orders here, not taking them.”

Q could see this ending badly if Bond didn’t back down.

“James, please, just go with Malcom. I’ll call Tanner. I’ll handle everything.” Q said.

“Who is Tanner? Your solicitor?” Malcom asked.

“Yes,” Q answered without hesitation. “And if you try anything, anything at all . . . well, you will live to regret it.” Q withheld the rest of the comment of ‘ _if you live at all afterwards._ ’

Malcom huffed out a disbelieving laugh but nodded his head.

“Go ahead and call your London solicitor. He won’t be able to save Bond from a charge of murder.”

He reached into a back pocket of his trousers and pulled out a set of handcuffs. “Put them on.”

Q would have rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the man if he weren’t so frightened for James. Bond looked at the cuffs and smirked.

“Just do it, James. Just do what he asks and let Tanner and me sort this out.”

Malcom smiled predatorially. But Bond was not impressed.

“For you, Q.” Bond took the cuffs and snapped them over his wrists in front of his body.

Malcom was so inexperienced he didn’t even realize why that was a dangerous thing to do. He waved the gun towards the door and pushed Bond towards the front of the house.

Q reached into his pocket and removed his mobile. He pressed the buttons and waited a moment. Martha stared up at him.

“Ricky?”

He held up his finger.

“Bill, this is Q. We have a problem. It’s 007.”

Martha could hear the sound of someone speaking on the other end of the phone.

“He didn’t go to Jamaica. He is here with me on Sark.”

Q paused as Martha wrinkled her face in confusion.

“The Isle of Sark. In the Channel. I . . .” Q hesitated. “I had some trouble down here and he came to help. The Connétable was found dead in my cousin’s house and 007 is being arrested for it.”

Q waited as Tanner spoke. “The Connétable? Who or what is a Connétable?”

“It’s like the chief constable. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is he was murdered. In my cousin’s house. The local authorities will have to come over from Guernsey to investigate and 007 is in custody with the vingtenier is out of control. I don’t know what Bond will do but . . .”

“Yes, I can imagine.” Tanner said. “Alright, sit tight. I will make some phone calls and dispatch the necessary personnel.”

“We told the vingtenier you were our solicitor.” Q said.

“You told him what?” Tanner’s voice shouted over the phone.

“You’re our solicitor. We thought it would be easier to explain why I need to call you right away.”

There was a pause in the conversation. Q’s eyes flashed over to his cousin who looked both confused and scared.

“Quartermaster, I know your personal life is none of my business but the longer you associate with Bond, the more erratic your life gets. You should consider your own safety.”

Q sighed and closed his eyes.

“Thank you Bill, I appreciate the help. We both do. But I think my life was already pretty crazy before Bond showed up in it.”

“You’re probably right. I’ll inform M.”

“Can you wait to do that until after we get Bond out of custody?” Q asked.

There was another hesitation, then Tanner said. “He is busy with the PM today. He probably won’t be in a good mood to hear about any of 007’s escapades.”

“Thank you, Bill. I owe you.”

“I’ll add it to the long list from Bond.”

The call disconnected and Q saw the look on Martha’s face.

“It’s not as bad as you think, love.” He said.

“No it sounds worse. I don’t understand, Ricky. I don’t understand why James calls you ‘Q’ or why you just called him double ‘O’ seven. It’s like some kind of code. And you said this Tanner was your solicitor but then you told him that you were lying. What is going on Ricky? What is happening?!”

“I told you I did computer programing for the government.” Q started. Martha didn’t move, she simply stared at him. “Well, it’s a little more complicated than that. I’m not supposed to tell you. It’s for your own safety.”

“What? You’re going to try and convince me you’re a spy or something? Really?! How stupid do you think I am?”

Q sagged as he sighed. “I don’t think you are stupid, love. I really don’t. And James and I are really . . . well, yes, we’re spies.”

“Oh Ricky! Why? Why won’t you tell me the truth? Frédéric is dead in a room I never knew existed in my house. Malcom is arresting James for his murder and you are making up stories! On top of all that – someone is trying to drive me out of my home. The house I grew up in. How could you?! I thought of anyone I could depend on, it would be you.” Martha began to cry hysterically.

Q stepped forward to wrap his arms around the frightened woman, but Martha slapped his face and pushed him back.

“No!” she shouted. “No, not until you tell me the truth!”

She shoved him again and ran out of the front of the house. Malcom and Bond were waiting in the cart for her. Malcom saw the tears running down her red flushed face.

“Martha?” Malcom held out his hand to her.

She batted it away. “Just get me out of here. Take me back to Dianna’s.”

Malcom whistled and shook the reins. The horse took off at a trot. Martha twisted in her seat and shouted back at Q.

“I hate you, Ricky. I hate you for being so cruel to me.”

Q wanted to go after her. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t lying, but he knew it was fruitless. He needed to figure out what was happening within the walls of the house. He needed to know who murdered Frédéric. And he need to know who the ghost was.


	12. An Unwanted Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is alone in the house, or is he?

Knowing someone would be there soon to collect Frédéric’s body, Q decided he needed to work quickly. He went back into the house and locked the doors again. Q rushed back to the basement with the spotlight. Frédéric was still laying still on the floor. The pool of blood around his head was dark even under the bright light. Q swallowed down his revulsion and took a moment to compose himself. He knew how this should be handled.

He lowered the light to shine on the floor of the room. Then slowly he swept it back and forth looking for any clue. Anything out of place. Anything.

There were dozens of footprints in the dust leading up to and away from the stairs. It was obvious that this was how the intruders were getting in, but how were they getting into the room itself. Q moved closer to the body, trying to not actually look at it. He didn’t want to see a dead man’s face. He tried to think of the body as an abstract puzzle he needed to solve.

Q squatted down beside the corpse and looked carefully at it. Frédéric was wearing his rubber Wellies. His heavy canvas trouser were tucked into the tops of them. His denim jacket was wet and sand clung to wrists of it. Carefully, Q pushed Frédéric’s coat open. Q wondered how Frédéric had gotten wet in a dry basement. Q patted the pockets and then carefully reached inside each. He found the usual – Frédéric’s pipe and a bag of tobacco, Frédéric’s wallet and a few coins. Just odds and ends, nothing out of the ordinary.

Q held the light over Frédéric’s hands. One was open and laid palm up. His mobile was laying beside the hand. Apparently, he had been using the light from his phone to help him in the dark room. Frédéric’s other hand was closed tightly in a fist. Q thought that was odd. He set his light down and carefully pried open Frédéric’s fist. The fingers were stiff and cold. It took more effort than Q realized, but within the closed hand was a metal circle. Slightly larger than a two-pound coin. Q picked it up. It was heavy for it’s size. Dirt crusted it and made it difficult for Q to determine what it was exactly.

“What do you have here?” He asked the dead man.

Unfortunately, Q’s eyes moved unconsciously towards Frédéric’s face. He saw the hair matted with blood and the torn flesh. Suddenly the smell the blood made him want to vomit. Frédéric’s eyes were starting to cloud over. The moist shine of a human’s eyes had been replaced by two vacant glass balls -dusty and dead.

Revulsion filled him. Q gasped in fear and pushed himself backwards away from the body. He slid across the dusty floor, panting wildly. Then he felt foolish for being afraid of something that obviously couldn’t hurt him. He stood up and shined the light around the room one more time. He noticed the shelves with the abandoned can goods and the broken boxes. It was just as James and he had left it the night before. Just the same except for the dead the body.

He went back up stairs and took the metal disk to the sink. Q rubbed the dirt and mud off the small round thing under the water. It didn’t take long for the bright gold color to appear. It became very obvious why the disk was heavy for its size. It was a gold coin. Q studied the engravings. A cross with equal length arms was on the one side of the coin. Letters encircled the cross. ‘ _IN HOC SIGNO VINCES’_ Q read the words and his father’s voice spoke in his head. _‘In this sign you will conquer.’_

Q turned the coin over and saw the crest of Spain and the Latin phrase for ‘Fair Phillip’. King Phillip the Second of Spain. The coin was over four hundred years old. Where would Frédéric find a coin like that. And in such good quality. The engravings were sharp and clear. The coin was not scratched or worn. It had to be very valuable in such good condition.

Nothing was making any sense to Q. He went back up to his room and turned his computer back on. He went through the videos one more time in hopes he had missed something – anything. That he could figure out how Frédéric ended up dead in the basement of the house. He went through each camera’s feed slowly. Checking every frame to make sure that no one had tampered with the feed and blocked out the approach of whom ever was doing this.

Frustratingly, Q had not missed a thing. No one had come near the house or the farmyard during the night.

Q had not realized how long he had been studying his computer until his stomach growled. He sat back and looked at his mobile. He had been working on his computer for several hours. He wondered if Bond had been transferred over to Guernsey yet. He hoped that Tanner had been able to intercept the police and stop them from formally arresting Bond.

Q was also surprised no one had come back to the house to retrieve the body of Frédéric. The sudden realization that there was a murdered man just short distance away from him, made Q feel odd. As if a cool draft swept passed him.

Considering himself silly for even being uncomfortable about a dead man, Q closed his laptop and stood up. He stretched his arms above his head, trying to relieve the tension in his back muscles when he heard the knock. Three solid knocks on his bedroom door.

Q heart jumped within his chest. He gasped and felt his stomach turn in on itself. The sudden rush of adrenaline in his blood stream made his heart race and his limbs feel light. He glared at the closed bedroom door then laughed at himself.

“James? Com’on in.”

The door didn’t open. The room was silent.

Q turned back and looked at the door. He called out again. “James? Is that you?”

There was another three knocks on the door. The door moved within the doorframe. Q could see it move. The sound wasn’t his imagination. It wasn’t some other door in the house.

His heart started to beat hard again in his chest. His palms became damp and his breathing shallowed. He knew he had locked the doors of the house. He was alone. Or he should be. He wondered if it was the murderer returned.

“Come in.” He tried to make it sound like an order.

He wished more than anything he still had his handgun. His eyes glanced at the window. It was a forty-foot drop to the ground. He tried it once when he was a teenager and almost broke his neck. There was no way he could climb down with a broken arm.

There was a third set of knocks. Q literally jumped in the air. He stifled the scream. Then completely frustrated with himself. He rushed towards the door. Two strides and his hand was on the doorknob. He yanked to the door open, hoping he could remember his hand-to-hand training.

The hallway was empty.

Q grabbed the door frame and steadied himself. His heart was beating double time and he could feel every nerve in his body telling him to run. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his fluttering heart. He stepped out into the hallway and slowly walked down the hall towards the stairs.

He took a quick glance around the corner then jerked back. He saw someone on the landing, under the stain glass window. They were at least thirty feet away from him so it wouldn’t be impossible for them to attack him. Q slowly moved his head around the corner again and got a good look at his intruder.

It was a woman. A young woman. Maybe twenty – maybe younger. She had short, light brown hair. A round face with bright blue eyes. She wore a cream-colored dress with small red dots or flowers printed on it and simple brown shoes.

Q moved further out from the corner. The young woman looked up and smiled at him. It was a familiar smile. One he had seen before. The same one his mother had. The woman shimmered in the shifting colors from the stain glass window. It was as if there was a veil between Q and the woman.

“Who are you?” He demanded but his voice cracked as he spoke. “What are you doing here?”

She slowly raised her finger up to lips and gave Q the common sign to be quiet. Then she smiled again at him and pointed at the stain glass window with the same finger that had been placed on her lips.

Q shivered and reached for the railing to steady himself. He looked at the window then back at the woman. Then the woman simple evaporated. One moment she was there then the next she was gone.

Q’s knees gave out. He collapsed at the head of the stairs. Sitting down hard. His legs folding underneath him. Tears streaked down his face. He knew who she was but it couldn’t be her. It couldn’t. She had died when he was child. Her photograph was sitting on the mantle in the room downstairs. The photograph of his grandmother.

His head was swimming. He was shaking and crying. He kept repeating to himself.

“No, no, no. There’s no such thing as ghosts. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

He looked up and stared at the stain glass window again. The window of Elizabeth the First holding the document that gave the island to Hellier de Carteret. The ships sailing behind her and the flags of her enemies underneath her feet. He stared at it trying to see if there was anything he hadn’t seen before.

And then it came to him. The ships behind Queen Elizabeth were not flying the flag of the Tudors. They were not British. They were ships without a country.


	13. The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James makes his escape.

Bond was ready to break Malcom’s neck. He would break the idiot’s neck if he weren’t standing in this ridiculous holding cell. The cell was more of an oversize closet. There was a single plain table pushed up against a wall and two chairs. The wooden door had a plexi-glass window looking out into the local police station. The whole station was smaller than his flat in Knightsbridge. Just two desks and a few filing cabinets. There was a television set hanging on the wall and simple desktop computers on each desk. It looked like any other non-specific office. There wasn’t even any bars on the windows.

And he was being held here. In this police station without bars. He – a double ‘O’ with a license to kill. How embarrassing.

He had heard Malcom’s side of the phone conversation with the Guernsey authorities. Malcom had insisted that Bond was a murder suspect but apparently Guernsey had told Malcom to release Bond. Malcom decided it didn’t have to be immediately.

There was an approaching storm from the south and the Channel was churning up. The investigative team form the other island would not be able to come over for several hours if not days. Malcom had been told to secure the area where the body was found and wait for their arrival. Malcom swore as he slammed the phone down into its cradle.

Bond glared at the man through the window but Malcom ignored him. Malcom took out his personal mobile and made a phone call. Bond couldn’t hear most of what Malcom was saying but apparently the man was getting frustrated.

Bond pounded his fist on the plexi-glass. “Let me out.” He demanded.

Malcom turned and sneered at Bond then turned back to his desk. He picked up a remote and pointed it at the television. He turned it on and a coastal weather broadcast came up. It showed a large winter storm bearing down on the island.

Bond paced in the small cell. His mind racing back to the house and to Q.

_‘Q was alone’_ he thought _. ‘Alone and unprotected. Whoever is trying to scare Martha out of her house is willing to kill to get it done. They already tried to kill Q once with the tripwire and now with a dead police officer in the basement, they had nothing left to lose. They would kill again and Q was alone with him.’_

He turned back to window and banged his fist on it again.

“I want to make a call!” Bond shouted.

“Fuck off.” Malcom snarled over his shoulder not looking at Bond.

The phone on the desk rang and Malcom grabbed it before it finished its first ring.

“Isle of Sark.” He snapped. Someone said something on the other end of the line. “Who?!”

Bond watched as Malcom stood up straighter and stared off into the distance.

“But he killed my Connétable!” Malcom paused. “My Connétable.” Malcom paused again. “And if I refuse?”

Bond watched as Malcom grew red in the face. He wasn’t sure who was speaking to him, but apparently Malcom didn’t like what was being said.

“You don’t have that authority.” Malcom insisted.

Then Malcom seemed to rock back on his heels. As if whoever was on the other end of the phone had psychologically punched him. Malcom reached out and grabbed the edge of the desk to steady himself. Malcom slowly returned the phone to its cradle and then stood motionless for a moment.

A malicious smile came to Bond’s face. “Are you going to let me out now?”

Malcom hesitated then walked over and unlocked the door to the small room. Bond came out and glared at Malcom.

“We need to get back to the house. Whoever did this could be there now.”

“I need secure the island for the incoming storm. Plus I need to make arrangements to bring Frédéric’s body back here.”

“Weren’t you told to secure the crime scene?”

“Don’t you try to tell me what to do too!” Malcom shouted.

Just then the door of the police station opened and a man in fishing waders and yellow oil skins came in. He smelled of fish and saltwater. His face was ruddy and pitted from exposure.

“Malcom, where the fuck is Frédéric?!” The new visitor growled.

Malcom hesitated in answering then glanced away from the fisherman. “He’s working on his smuggling case.”

The fisherman smacked his fists to his hips in disgust. “We need that dry ice! Hasn’t he found it yet? Or even who took it?”

“It probably was kids, Gaz. And by now, it’s gone. Melted. We are supposed to get a new shipment from Carteret tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Gaz barked. “There ain’t no way were get’n anything tomorrow! Have you seen the weather reports? We got a nasty storm on the way here. In two hours no one will be out in a boat smaller than forty-foot.”

Malcom and Bond both glanced up at the television screen. The radar showed a wave of rain and wind quickly descending upon the island. Bond doubted he could get back to Q before it started raining.

“Look, Gaz, I can’t help you right now. Frédéric . . .” Malcom hesitated. “He can’t help you either. You will just have to wait for the boat from France.”

The door opened and another man walked into the office.

“Malcom, I brought my tractor and wagon like you asked.” The new arrival said as a greeting.

“Thanks, Nat.” Malcom said.

Gaz was not happy with being dismissed by Malcom. He interrupted the Nat.

“This island can’t survive without its fishing fleet.”

“Fishing fleet?” Malcom said contemptuously.

“Yeah,” Gaz continued. “You need us more than we need you, Malcom. Just remember that. We can decide we need a new Connétable and vingtenier.”

Bond slowly moved around the arguing men and slipped quietly out the front door. The skies were already dark and the wind was picking up. He had a two-mile run to get back to the house then he noticed the idling tractor with a large wagon parked in front of the station.

He glanced around and then calmly walked up the tractor. He pulled the pin that hitched the wagon to the tractor. He climbed up onto the seat of the tractor. He hadn’t driven a tractor since he was a child in Scotland. He took a brief moment to remember how to drive one – engaging the clutch and running the stick shift through the gears. He found what he thought was first gear and released the clutch. The tractor lunged forward then growled.

He pressed down on the clutch again and actually found first gear. The tractor purred and rolled off just as the office door swung up. Nat and Malcom came out of the office yelling at Bond to stop. Bond ground the gears as he increased the speed of the tractor. He was now speeding down the road at around fifteen miles per hour. Malcom and Nat were rapidly falling behind. Bond press the accelerator to the floor and the tractor whined as it sped up. Moving faster than it ever had before it’s life. Eighteen miles per hour.

As Bond headed for the isthmus, he reflected this was the slowest motorized escape he’d ever made. He hoped no one had a photograph of him on this tractor.

The wind was already blowing hard and the rain had started by the time Bond pulled the tractor in front of the house. The wind pulled at his clothes as he rushed to the front door to find it locked. He banged on the door, but there was no answer. He considered breaking a window, but with the storm coming quickly, he didn’t really want to that.

Running around to the back of the house, he found the back door locked too. He considered the small panes of glass on the upper half of the door. A broken pane in the door could easily be repaired and would not cause major damage to the house in a violent winter storm. He pulled the sleeve down on is coat and wrapped around his hand. A single punch was all it took to break the glass. Carefully, he reached inside and turned the deadbolt, then maneuvered his hand down to the doorknob.

Bond stood in the kitchen and listened. The wind was hollowing outside the house and the rain was pelting the windows, but there was no sound inside. His senses became razor sharp. His mind slipped into mission mode, expecting danger from every direction. Malcom had taken his gun away. He reached for a knife from the wooden block on the counter. It was heavy and about six inches long. Not a good throwing knife but definitely valuable in a fight.

He moved as silently as he could out of the kitchen and into the dinning room. It was empty. The table still had the candle sitting on it from the séance. He stepped out into the hallway and paused to listen. He thought he heard something above him. Soft, shaky breathing. Bond moved carefully towards the staircase. His shoes barely making a sound on the wooden floors.

With his back to the wall, he traveled slowly up, his attention focusing on the top of the stairs. He was only up a few steps when he saw Q lying on the floor. His body curled in on itself. His hands over his ears and wrapped around his head.

“Q!”

Bond rushed up the stairs – the knife ready to plunge into any stranger he met. He paused over Q’s huddled body. Reaching out, he spoke softly.

“Q? Are you alright?”

Q shifted slightly and looked up at Bond. James could see Q’s eyes were red and swollen. His lip was bloody from where he had bit it.

“What happened?” James asked. “Are you hurt?”

Q started to shake. He couldn’t stop himself.

“I saw . . .” Q shook violently and Bond leaned down to help the young man sit up. “I saw . . .” The words would not form in his throat.

“What? Who did you see? Who was it, Q?”

Q swallowed back his fear and shook his head no. He would not say it. He could not. _‘There are no such things as ghosts’_ , he told himself. But he saw her. He saw her and he knew she was as real as James was, standing there in front of him.

“Did someone attack you?” James persisted in questioning Q.

“No.” It took all of Q’s strength to say the simple word.

“Q, why are you on the floor? What happened?”

Q twisted to look down at the landing under the window. For a brief moment he thought he would see her standing there again – watching him. But the landing was empty. Only he and James were in the house.

He looked down at his hands. The gold coin was still clutched in his palm. The imprint of the coin was pressed into his skin.

James’ eyes flicked from Q’s face down the flash of gold in his hand. “What’s that?”

He reached for the coin, half expecting Q was snatch it away. But Q didn’t move as James removed it from his hand. 

“It’s a Spanish coin – old.” James said turned the coin over in his hand.

“About four hundred and fifty years old. Almost.”

James looked confused as he slipped his hand under Q’s arm and lifted the man up upon his feet.

“What happened?” James asked again.

“The stain glass window. We were all wrong. It’s not Elizabeth and Spanish Armada nor is it the Queen giving the island to be fief. Look at the ships in the background.” Q said nodding towards the window.

James took a moment to stare at the window. The ships were two masted ships similar to the ones that would be sailing during the time of Queen Elizabeth the First. He noticed the canon fire and smoke. It looked like they were actually painted on the glass instead of being inlaid. Then he picked up on it. The ships had no flags. The only flags in the window were at Elizabeth’s feet. The ships didn’t belong to Elizabeth but did her bidding anyway. Pirates with ‘Letters of Marque.’

“It could be Sir Martin Frobisher.” Q said not waiting for Bond to answer him. “He sailed in these waters during the that time.”

“She is handing down a Letter of Marque to the pirates giving them permission to attack and sink any enemy of England. Making them Privateers.”

“Think about, James. The island is perfectly situated between England, France, and Spain. It would be the perfect place for the pirates to hide. And the safest place to hide their loot before dividing it would be in the strongest built building on the island. A church – or better yet, the crypt of a church. Odo, the Bishop of Bayeux built the church and the pirates used it to hide their treasure. Then over the years some how the church becomes a house. And now someone wants the treasure.”

James shook his head. “Q, do you know how incredibly insane that sounds? Why would there be any treasure left here? After all these years?”

Q took the coin back from James’ hand and held it up. “I found this in Frédéric’s hand. He must have found some trace of it when he was in the basement. He may have even been involved in the ‘haunting’ to get Martha out of the house in the first place and had a falling out with his partners.”

“Who? Malcom?”

“No, I don’t think so. Malcom wanted to shoot you with my gun. He thought it would work. Who ever murdered Frédéric realized the gun wouldn’t fire so they bludgeoned him to death with it. It must be someone else.” Q said.

“Someone who knows about the history of the house and the island. Whose seen this window and put it all together. But why haven’t you all figured this out before? I mean your father is a professor of history. He should have had an idea.”

Q smiled. “You’re not very familiar with academics are you. They can get very fixated on one idea and completely miss everything else. Not saying they are all that way, but you would be surprised at how focus they get.”

James nodded his head. “It happens in battle too. The commander is so focus on what is happening right in front of him, he misses the fact he is being flanked.”

Q stared at James for moment and wondered how many times he had been so focused on completing his mission he missed important information along the way.

“Has it happened to you? On a mission?”

A shadow crossed over James’ face. “Once – in Venice.”

Q was afraid to ask any more specific question. Venice was enough for Q to know Bond was thinking about the woman.

“So – ah, we need to search the basement again. When is Malcom coming to collect Frédéric?”

Just then, the rafters of the house groaned under the sweep of the wind. The rain picked up and beat on the windows.

“I doubt we will see him tonight. If he does make it across the isthmus, it will be to arrest me again for stealing a tractor.”

“A what?!”

“A tractor. It was the only vehicle I could find to make my escape in.”

Q covered his face with his palm. “Only you, James. Only you would flee the scene in a motorized vehicle that can’t make thirty-five miles an hour but is still the fastest thing on the island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Martin Frobisher (1535 to1594) was an explorer and privateer. He was later knighted by Queen Elizabeth for fighting against the Spanish Armada in 1588. Frobisher Bay in Canada is named for him.


	14. The Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q meet the ghost.

Bond and Q had nailed a small piece of plywood over the broken window in the door. Q didn’t even complain about the vandalism. He was still shaken by the vision of his grandmother. Bond knew something was bothering the younger man but Q had not spoken to him about her. Bond only knew that Q was hesitant about moving around the house and seemed to be constantly glancing over his shoulder into the dark rooms.

“I understand your logic in thinking there’s a treasure but you’ve missed a more reasonable explanation, Quartermaster.”

Q looked up at Bond and blinked owlishly at him. “What?”

“I think I know why Frédéric was in the basement.”

“Why?” Q asked.

“Smugglers.” Bond said as he slipped the knife between his belt and his trousers. He took one of the spotlights and went to the secret door.

“Smugglers?” Q asked as he followed Bond into the basement.

“Remember his threat at the harbor? Remember him asking us about that boat? He was after smugglers. His coat was wet. Obviously, he must have found a way into the basement through the sea caves.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Q was too nervous to tell Bond about the visitation from his dead grandmother. He thought if the word got back to MI6 that their Quartermaster was seeing ghost he would not only be the youngest quartermaster, but he would also be the youngest to be retired from the position of quartermaster. He hesitated as he followed Bond down the stairs.

Bond ignored the body as he walked into the room. Instead he went immediately to the walls and started to run his hand along the bricks. His pressed on the blocks and knocked, listening for anything hollow. He came to the shelves at the back of the room. He shined the light across the shelves. He noticed the wide seam between the two shelves.

Bond carefully looked at the seam and then down at the bottom of the shelf. It was about a quarter of an inch off the floor. He smoothed his hand along the edges of the frame then finally pushed the shelf back. It moved slightly then there was an audible click and the shelf swung freely outward.

“A door?” Q gasped.

“Old trick. Hide the door in plain sight by making it look like something else.” Bond opened the door further and stepped inside. “Any chance any of your relatives were contrabandists?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“This is too well built. Not just something slapped together. It’s been here a while. Probably built when the house was. The Channel Islands are famous for being stop over points for smugglers bringing black market goods into England for centuries. At some point in the past, your family probably was in the business too.”

Bond shown the light into the dark room beyond. Unlike the first room, this room had the traditional vaulted ceiling of a medieval crypt. It was built out of the same limestone blocks as the first room, but Q realized it wasn’t actually under the kitchen. This room was more towards the center of the house. It was larger than the basement room and there were several narrow steps down into it. Three large stone tombs were lined up across the center of the room. The representations of the dead, carved out of stone, were on the top of each vault. There was a small stone table that looked like an altar near the east end of the room. Unlit torches were placed on several pillars throughout the room. James and Q appeared to be standing at the main entrance into the room, but in the back corner of the formal crypt was an iron gate.

Bond moved towards the gate. His spotlight focused on the bars but the beam barely penetrating the darkness beyond. His hand grabbed to cold metal and pulled it opened easily. It whined and groaned on ancient hinges. A set of steps leading down had been cut into the living rock.

“This is how they have been getting in.” he said.

“But who?” Q asked.

“Remember Frédéric asked if we knew that French sailboat? Remember Martha mentioned the French offer to buy the house? They must be behind this. It must be someone wanting the house to use it for smuggling.”

“How would some stranger from France know about all of this?” Q asked as his hand waved around the dark room. “How would a stranger know about this room or what my great-grandfather looked like to trick us?”

“Because it wasn’t a stranger, Q.” Bond said.

He twisted and turned his light to a pillar in a dark corner of the room. Q gasped when he saw the man standing there. He was thin and balding, with whisps of greying hair barely covering his pate. One might think he was a mirage or a phantom, except his bright blue eyes belied the fact the man was very much alive.

Q felt the air knocked out of his lungs. A psychological stab to heart made it difficult to stand. He swayed on his feet and was relieved when Bond grabbed his elbow and steadied him. The man looked like his great-grandfather.

“Norman Wadard, I presume,” Bond said coldly.

“Norman?!” Q whispered. His voice shattered like glass. “How?”

The man in the corner smiled. It was an unforgiving smile of a dead man. “You were always so gullible, Ricky. You and my idiotic sister.”

“Why?” Q asked still having difficulty seeing his dead cousin resurrected before him.

“I hated this place. My father always demanding I be a farmer like him. Always forcing me to take care of the animals and fix the fucking tractor. And grow the fucking corn. I hated it. Martha thought it was the most beautiful place in the world. You only spent the summers here and it was a playground for you, but I hated it.”

“You could have just moved off the island. You didn’t have to . . .” Q trailed off.

“I had to fake my death. It was the only way to escape.” Norman Wadard said.

“You weren’t only fleeing from your family were you?” Bond said.

“No.” Norman glared at him. “There is very little to do in this island. I didn’t want to farm, and I refused to work the fishing fleet. That left chauffeuring around tourists and smuggling.”

“I don’t understand, Norman.” Q said, shaking his head. “Martha left. She went to school and got a job in Kent.”

“Do you think my father was going to let me leave? Let alone the smugglers I owed money to.”

“Smugglers?”

“I started with smuggling cigarettes. Then brandy. Finally I was helping with heroin. That’s when I got into trouble.”

“Sampling your wares?” Bond asked. His hand slowly moved from Q’s arm to the small of his own back. His fingers wrapped around the handle of the kitchen knife.

“I came up short on a delivery.”

“Were you hiding it here?” Q asked.

“I found the cave when I was a teenager. Don’t you remember our adventures exploring the caves when you came to visit. You and your idiot father. Always looking for his church. He must feel like a fucking arse missing what was right under his own nose.”

“You knew about the sealed off basement and the passageway to the sea caves.” Bond continued.

“The cave into here is special. It is only accessible during low tide. Otherwise it fills up and you don’t know it is here. I’m sure most people on the island missed it all together. But it was perfect for my needs.” Norman said.

“Do you know why the basement was sealed off?” Q asked.

“No, and I didn’t care. No one in the family seemed to know about this place and that it made it simpler for me. Dad never knew what I had down here. If he did, he would beaten me with his belt until I bled.”

“So you stole from your fellow smugglers and then had to disappear.” Bond said. He moved slightly to the left – moving away from Q and closer to Norman.

“Faking my death was easy. Everyone is still afraid of La Coupée. Just had to toss my rucksack over the railing and leave a few clues along the way. Then skip off to one of the beaches and sail away in a boat I stole. I was in France before anyone even knew I was gone.”

“But Martha? She was crushed. How could you do that to her? She loved you. You were so close.” Q plead.

“Close? She was always in my fucking back pocket. ‘ _Wouldn’t be wonderful to run the farm together, Norm’y. Won’t we have such fun when we grow up, Norm’y. I want to stay here forever!’_ ” He mimicked her voice. “I hated this place and I hated all of you. I couldn’t wait to get away from you. But my father stopped me every time I tried to escape. Every fuck’n time.”

Q felt sick. He remember how despondent his aunt and uncle had been when they thought Norman had fallen to his death from La Coupée.

“You’re a bastard.” Q hissed.

Norman laughed angrily. “And who are you, Audric? What kind of computer geek carries a gun in his suitcase? Granted it was a broken gun. But still.”

Bond shifted his body and pulled the knife out. He took two running steps towards Norman, but Norman was prepared. Norman shot him before Bond could plunge the knife into him. The bullet tore into Bond’s right side as Q shouted.

“NO!”

Q rushed over as Bond collapsed to the floor. Blood seeped through his jumper.

“Norman! What have you done?!” Q shouted.

“That’s how gun that works.” He smiled.

“Why did you kill Frédéric?” Bond asked, kneeling on the floor. His arms wrapped around his body.

“He’d been on my case since I was in school. Always sniffing around. Making veiled threats. He knew I was into smuggling but he could never prove it. He searched the whole island looking for my secret hiding place. He finally found the cave entrance and came up in here. I thought I could use Audric’s gun on the bastard but Audric’s gun wouldn’t fire. There’s something wrong with it. So I ended up cracking the bastard’s head in with it. I thought Malcom would arrest Audric and I would be rid of both of you and my annoying little sister. Then I could get my proxy to buy the house cheap. I would burn down the barns and shoot the animals. Then me and my friends could use this place to hid our contraband as we sneak it into England, France, or Spain. It would be perfect.”

“Perfect except for the fact that now you got a dead police officer in your hiding place and two top governmental agents to deal with.” Bond said calmly even as his blood soaked his clothing.

“Not for long.” Norman said. “Move.”

He waved the gun towards the iron gate in the back of the room. Bond grunted as Q helped him to stand up.

Q helped Bond stand and they moved slowly through the crypt towards the steps leading down.

“What are you going to do?” Q asked as he wrapped his arm around James’ shoulder and guided him down the stairs.

Q held the light as best he could with his broken arm. The stairs were wet and slick. He had to be careful not to fall. The stairs were cut into the rock and the led down until they came to another gate wedged over the steps.

“Open it.” Norman ordered.

Q let go of James and grabbed the iron bar. It was pitted and rusty but still solid. Q lifted it up and held it up as James descended down further. Black water was already washing over the steps. In the distance the wind howled and whistled through the cracks of the rocks. The ceiling was low in this part of cave. The walls were wet and slick with algae.

Q followed James down the steps, expecting Norman to trail behind. But instead of continuing down behind James and Q, Norman dropped the gate closed over their heads. He reached quickly and slipped a padlock through a chain, locking the gate closed and trapping James and Q below.

“The water comes up past this gate during the full moon.” Norman laughed. “Hide tide is coming in. You could try to swim out of the cave but given it is dark outside and the storm, I doubt you’d make the entrance before you run out of air.”

“Norman! You can’t leave us here!”

“Why not? You’ll drown if you don’t freeze to death first. The water temperature is less than ten degrees. Your bodies will wash out with tides. They’ll never find your bodies. You’ll just disappear. And the vingtenier will think you fled before you were arrested for Frédéric’s murder. It will be perfect. Martha will sell the house cheap to my associates and we will have the perfect place to stage our smuggling operation from.”

“Norman, you’re a bastard.” Q hissed.

Norman smiled like a mad man. “But I’ll be a rich bastard. Goodbye Audric. Happy Christmas.

Norman turned and skipped up the steps and into the darkness. Leaving James and Q knee deep in frigid water. Black and merciless. 


	15. The Darkness and the Cold

Norman Wadard rushed out of the basement and into the kitchen. He laughed as he strolled through the home he grew up in. He could imagine hearing his father’s gruff voice telling him how disappointing Norman had been to him. It made Norman laugh more.

He had won. He was now going to get the farm away from his sister and destroy everything his father held precious. Taking a moment to look around the family room with its Christmas tree and framed photographs, he wished he could set the whole place on fire. But his French partners wanted the house. They wanted it for its location and they would be furious if he lit the match to it. He couldn’t afford to them angry at him. He owed them too much money.

“Norman . . .” It was a woman’s voice. Soft and distant.

Norman spun quickly around. For the briefest of moments he thought he saw someone standing in the doorway. A woman in the white dress with red flowers. But there wasn’t anyone there. The rush of adrenaline was sharp and it took him a moment to calm down then he laugh at himself.

_‘Imagine me seeing ghost now?’_ he thought.

He walked out of the room and glanced up at the darken window over the stairs. The bright colors of the stained glass were muted and opaque.

“And that’s the first thing to go.” He said to no one but himself. “I’ve always hated her smug face, the bitch.”

The front door banged open with a blast of wind. It slammed against the wall as the rain cascaded into the hall. Norman rushed forward and grabbed the door. He started to push it closed when he saw the tractor out front that Bond had stolen.

_“Malcom will be here soon. I can’t be found in the house.”_

Norman slammed the door shut and then went to the kitchen. He needed to get to his comrades in their boat. Normally he kept a small rowboat moored on the beach but he didn’t want to be in a small boat in this storm. He decided he would have to hike back to the harbor. He went out the kitchen door and through the kitchen garden. It was the fastest route to La Coupée.

The wind was strong and the rain was blowing sideways. It stung Norman’s face. He pulled the collar of his coat up and twisted his head trying to protect his face. It took him almost twenty minutes to walk the short distance to the isthmus. His coat was soaked and he was beginning to shake with the cold.

He saw the narrow road on top of the La Coupée. The white railing barely visible in the rain. He glanced to the far end looking for any other traffic. He didn’t want to be seen by anyone. Once he crossed the isthmus, he could travel quicky through the fields and pastures to get to the harbor and to his partners’ sailboat.

The road was dark. There was no one else out there. He started across. The wind picked up and buffeted into him. He struggled to walk. The icy rain felt like needles being driven into his skin.

“Norman.”

He stopped and looked up. No one was there. He was alone. His heart was pounding. He could feel sweat break out even though he was cold.

He shouted. “WHOSE THERE?!”

Only the wind answered him.

He took several steps further across the narrow strip of land. The sea on either side of the drop disappeared into darkness. Suddenly the hair on the back of his neck rose. He paused in the middle of La Coupée – unable to proceed, afraid to go back. He looked around again. The blackness surrounded him. He could not see the far side of the isthmus. He could hear nothing but the howling of the wind.

A flash of lighting suddenly lite everything around him in stark shades of black and white.

She stood less than two feet away from him. A woman in a white dress with red flowers. Her short brown hair was not affected by the wind. Her pale skin was almost translucent.

Norman thought he knew her. Thought he had seen her picture before. She should have bright blue eyes like his, but the woman’s eyes were black. Black as coal dust and endless as the night.

“NORMAN!” She screamed and raised her arms to grab at him.

He shrieked in fear and rushed backwards. His legs hit the railing just off the road. His body tipped over and fell off the precipice into darkness.

He felt his body falling, then the painful collision with the ground. He rolled down the hill, unable to catch hold of anything to stop himself. Then his head hit the outcropping of rocks. A sharp crack and the sensation his skull was pried open. Then darkness. And silence.

The wind blew across La Coupée. Empty and barren.

~Q~

The black water surged into the cave. Its cold icy fingers grabbed and pulled on Q’s legs. He was already shivering. His teeth chattering as he wrapped his arms around his body. The right side of James’ jumper was sticky with blood. He was having difficult with his right arm as he swept the small cave with the light.

“I’m going to have to take this with me. Are you going to be alright in the dark?” He asked.

“What?”

“I’m going to swim for it. It’s the only way for us to get out of here alive.”

“I can’t swim out of here.” Q said. His words sounded strange to him, then he realized his teeth were chattering and he couldn’t stop them.

“I said I was going to swim out. I’ll follow the coast and get to a beach or something.”

“James – the storm. It’s horrible out there.”

“And it’s worse in here. We don’t have a choice.” James said.

“The current. It’s not slack tide. The current will carry you to Norway. And that’s assuming you can find your way out of the cave underwater. You’ll die.” Q cried.

The cold water was above their knees and rising quickly.

“If I stay here, we both will die. I can do this, don’t worry, Q. I’ve been through worse than this.”

He turned to Q and leaned in to kiss the corner of Q’s mouth.

“Don’t worry. I won’t be long.”

He turned and swept the cave again with the light.

“JAMES!” Q cried.

James turned back and looked quizzically at Q.

“James, please. It’s only been a few days. We haven’t even . . .” The rest of the sentence hung in his throat.

James gave Q a cocky smile. He stepped closer on the slick stairs and wrapped his left arm around Q’s body, pulling the younger man closer.

“And I promise there will be many more.”

He pulled Q tight to his body and kissed the man hard. Q’s hand came up and cupped James’ face. Q thought it was odd how warm James’ cheek was compared to his own hand. He wanted to hold James close and draw in his warmth. Hold and be held.

“It’s impossible. You’ll die. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Trust me, Q. Trust me.”

But before Q could say anything else, James took a step back then plunged forward into the black water. For a few moments, Q could follow the nautical spotlight under the black water. It dimmed then disappeared into the depths of the cave.

“JAMES, PLEASE!” Q shouted.

His heart sank and he wrapped his arms around his body, trying to trap what little heat Bond bestowed on him close. Q stepped back up as far as he could go. He bent forward and pressed his back against the iron gate.

Q was in pitch blackness.

His thoughts moved swiftly to James. He wondered if anyone would find James’ body. Would it wash up on the French shore or would be carried back to England. It made him feel relieved in believing that James would be buried in England. That he would finally be home and never have to leave again. Something seemed right about that. A completion.

His clothes were wet and he could no longer feel his lower legs or feet. His fingers were numb. The sensation similar to needles being jabbed into thighs was excruciating. He couldn’t hold his bent over position any longer. He gave up and sat down. The water splashed up onto his seat. His head pressed to the gate.

Q wondered if he had dreamed of seeing his dead grandmother. Maybe he had been asleep. Maybe he had become confused by everything. His cousin and his aunt. James and the way the man had been treating him. Treating him like Q was something special to him. Someone that Bond really wanted to spend time with.

Q licked his lips in hopes of tasting James there, but all he tasted was saltwater. He felt tired. He felt he had been fighting for a very long time and just wanted to go to sleep now.

Q knew his body temperature was plummeting. He wondered what death from hypothermia would be like. He thought it might be better than drowning. If he lost consciousness first because of the cold, then he wouldn’t struggle when the water covered over him. The black and unrelenting water that was moving up the walls.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. The darkness was easier to handle if his eyes were closed. It really shouldn’t matter either way. Either way everything was black and he was blind, but with his eyes closed, it felt safer. He felt more in control. _Silly_ , he thought.

Q thought about sitting on the couch next to James. James’ finger slowly carding through his hair. It felt so good. He was warm and happy and safe. He wanted to feel that again. Had that only been the night before. It seemed like so long ago. So much had happened since then. Since he curled up next to James and watched the flames in the fireplace. The warm and calming fire.

His legs were in the water. His coat was wet. Only his chest was dry.

Q knew that his body would react to the cold in a drastic manor. It would constrict the blood vessels in his limbs and pull all his blood to his core in an effort to keep his heart and lungs going. His brain would suffer from the lack of oxygen. He would become disoriented and delusional. He hoped he would think of James. He wanted his last thoughts to be about James.

Regrets began to run through his head. He didn’t want his last moments to be spent with regret but he couldn’t stop himself. Regret he hadn’t told Bond how he really felt. Regret he hadn’t taken a chance when Bond told him how he felt himself.

“Why did I waste so much time? Why didn’t I tell him?” Q whispered to himself as his teeth chattered.

He could no longer feel the cold. He was numb. He just wanted to fall asleep. The water kept rising. Soon it would over his shoulders and if Norman were telling him the truth, he would be trapped under the iron gate as the water covered his head.

It would be over soon and Q would die alone.

_“I should have gone with James. We should have died together. We should have been together.”_ The words tumbled in his mind. Flashes of James came to him.

All he wanted was to be with James one more time. To see that infuriating smug face with its cocky smile and depthless eyes. Q just wanted to curl into James’ arms like he did on the couch and find warmth and comfort. Feel James’ fingers drag through his hair once more. And taste James’ kiss a final time.

Q could count on one hand how many times they had kissed. It was unfair. Their love affair should have been countless kisses and years spent together. Not just a handful of days chasing ghosts. It should have been more.

Q felt himself drifting off. Sleep felt like a refuge from his mind and his remorse. He just want to sleep, because then he could dream of James. Dream of him smiling. Dream of being held. Of being desired. Just a few moments and he would slip under and dream of James.

Q could no longer feel his body. He couldn’t understand how desperate things had become. He didn’t feel the grip around his wrist.


	16. In the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q don't know what's happened to Norman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be done by Christmas but as ever, life got in the way. I hope everyone has had a safe and happy New Year's celebration. And I hope that 2021 beats the hell out of 2020. There are so many things we all miss doing and hopefully we can start doing them again soon. Also thank you all for the wonderful comments and support you have always given me with my writing. It has inspired me to try harder and to be better. I hope you enjoy the end of the story.

Rick Bishop felt warm. The cold water was gone. He was cocooned in warmth and softness. It made him happy.

There was something there that smelled good too. A hint of sweat and dash of tobacco. Slightly spicey and very masculine. He wanted to bury his nose in that scent because it made him feel desired. His stomach tightened with the aroma and made his mouth water.

Rick twisted in the sheets and moved closer to the scent. He became warmer and felt being pull closer. The sensation of fingers dragging through his hair and soft light kisses to forehead drew him farther from the blackness he had been in.

A warm hand cupped his cheek and a thumb dragged across his brow. Rick purred in satisfaction.

“Q?” A deep voice whispered.

There was something familiar and desirable about that voice. Something alluring and Rick wanted to hear it again. It had been present in so many dreams. So many nights he listened as it moved over him in his sleep.

 _‘Was this a dream too?’_ he thought. _‘Was he asleep?’_

He had to be. Nothing in the world could feel this good.

“Q? It’s time to wake up.” The voice whispered in his ear.

It took Rick several moments to realize the voice was speaking to him. He was the ‘Q’ that was being summoned from his repose. Rick – Q hummed and twisted closer to the warmth he felt. His hands skimmed up a toned body. Over the curves and dips of a muscular chest. Across nipples that puckered and wrinkled under his touch.

“Q, you’ve been asleep for hours. Time to wake up.”

Q blinked his eyes and frowned as he tried to focus them. Above him a face came into view. Square and familiar. Brilliant blue eyes that looked like fire under ice.

 _‘Bond – James Bond’_ Q’s mind informed him. The blonde was leaning over Q, smiling down at him. Q tried to return the smile but instead he pushed up and kissed the firm lips he had secretly watched for years. His attempt was rewarded by being kissed in return earnestly.

Firm and strong. A possessive nature. Q felt he was suddenly the center of the universe. Every inch of James was focused on him. It was wonderful. It was perfect. He shifted and moved to roll over on top of the other man.

The searing white pain blazed behind his eyes and Q hissed as he collapsed back down on the bed.

“What happened to me?” He groaned as James’ fingers continued to comb through his hair.

“Hypothermia.”

“What?”

“What do you remember?” James asked.

It hurt to think. Q rubbed his temples. He remembered being cold. ‘ _Why was he cold’_. He remember the water and the cave. James jumped into the water and swam away. The cold water filled the cave. He remembered . . . Norman.

“Norman?!” Q gasped.

“Gone when I got back here. I swam out of the cave and made it to the beach. I stayed as close to the cliffs as I dared. I didn’t want to get caught out in the currants.”

“You came back for me?”

“When I found you, your body temperature had gone low enough to slow your heart and lungs down. You were under the water but I got to you just in time. I don’t think you were under the water for more than a few moments. Once I got you breathing again, I brought you up here and put you in a tub of warm water. Brought your temperature up slowly and then got you to bed.”

Q lifted his broken arm and looked at the elastic bandage wrapped around it. Q’s questioning glance was answered by James.

“I had to cut off the cast to help warm your arm up. I wrapped it in the bandage.”

Q sighed. He was no longer comfortable. His arm hurt as well as his head. His hands and feet felt cold even though he knew he was under a warm blanket with James beside him. Flashes of the night came to him behind closed eyelids.

“You knew,” he said accusingly. “You knew that Norman was behind it. But how?”

“I knew it had to be someone who knew about your family history. It had to be someone who either looked like your great-grandfather or had very good make-up skills. When I saw the photographs of your family I commented on how much the men in your family look alike. All of them except you.”

“Yes, most of them are bald before they reach forty. And everyone has those blue eyes except me.”

“During the séance I heard someone in the kitchen even though the ghost was in the hallway.”

“That wasn’t Norman. That was transparent. We could see through him.” Q claimed.

“Remember how the room got very cold just before we saw him?” James asked.

“Yes. My feet were freezing before it was over.”

“Remember the dry ice being stolen from the harbor shop. Somehow Norman got the ice upstairs and as it melted, it vaporized and cascaded over the railing and down into the hall. That became the screen for him to project a picture of himself done up in make-up to make himself look older. The more vapor that fell the colder the room got. Then the candle went out. It was either the CO2 or he somehow blew it out.”

“My headache – it was from the carbon dioxide.”

“Yes.” James leaned down and lightly kissed Q’s temple.

“Wouldn’t we find the ice upstairs?” Q asked.

“No, it was already evaporated by the time we checked up there. Remember when the lights went out, I went to the kitchen but you had to stay with Martha and Dianna for several minutes before they would let you turn on the lights and go check the hall. Plenty of time for whatever was there to disappear.”

Q thought for a moment about the vision of his dead grandmother. He tried to remember if he had seen any fog or smoke. _‘No’,_ he thought. She had been translucent on the stairs.

“What about . . .” Q trailed off. He realized he hadn’t told Bond about seeing her.

“What?” James asked as his finger returned to dragging through Q’s hair.

“Martha saw the ghost before we got here. She saw one outside. That couldn’t have been dry ice too. What was that?”

“Pepper’s ghost. It’s an old magician’s trick. You take a sheet of glass and set it at an angle to person watching. It will reflection of someone standing outside the viewer’s line of sight and appear to be translucent.” James said with a smug expression.

“And Norman was involved with the smuggler’s Frédéric was looking for.” Q said as if it was all so simple now that it had been explained to him. He felt like an idiot for not seeing it earlier.

James could see the frustration in the young man’s face.

“It was a very clever plan, Q. He was playing on your and Martha’s memories of him to get away with it.”

“Martha would have given him the house if he had asked for it.” Q moaned.

“Would she? He fled here before. Faked his death to hurt his parents and get away from people he owed money to. He’d been involved with drug smuggling and God knows what else. Would she give up the home she loved to a person like that?”

Q looked up at James with wide eyed realization. “No, probably not.”

Q sighed again. He needed to contact Tanner and let him know what had happened. He also knew he needed to tell Martha that Norman was alive and been the one who had been scaring her. Malcom would have to arrest Norman and his French partners for Frédéric’s murder. That would probably be the final straw for Martha and Malcom every getting together.

Q groaned as he sat up. “I have so much to do.”

James wrapped his arms around the younger man’s shoulders and pulled him back down on to the mattress.

“Do you?” He asked playfully.

“I need to call people. Tanner and Malcom.”

“Do you really?” James hummed. “They can wait for a while. It’s not like Norman is going to go anywhere. He thinks he’s won. He just needs to stay put as his French partners make another offer to buy the house from Martha. She’s not going to do that in the next hour or two.”

James leaned down over Q and lightly traced the tip of his nose along Q’s jaw line and up Q’s ear. Then James purred, “You are the most frustrating man I know, Q. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to get you into my bed and now that I’ve got here, all you want to do is run away before we can get to know each other better.”

Q became very aware that not only was he naked but James was too. Q’s heart skipped a beat and his headache seemed to fade away. He felt flush and wondered if there was a bottle of water nearby.

“You wanted me in your bed?” Q was proud that his voice didn’t crack.

“Yes,” James nuzzled at Q’s neck. Feather light kisses were laid down the length of Q’s neck as James’ fingertips glided over warm skin. “And near drowning aside. I’ve wanted to wake up with you beside me so I could watch you in the sunlight as I took you slowly apart.”

Q made an indecent noise that was somewhere between a groan and whine. His own hands moving up to wrap around the back of James’ head – to draw the man closer to his own lips.

“Oh, James. Please.”

The window rattled as the helicopter swooped low and landed in the front yard of the house. The wind from the propeller blades buffeted the house. James leapt from the bed and stood naked at the window, watching the several people climb out of the back of the helicopter. They were dressed in winter coats and carried survey equipment.

“Fuck, guess who just showed up?” 

~Q~

Q slammed the mug down on the counter hard enough to break it, but he didn’t. The hot tea sloshed out and across the soapstone surface. Q didn’t even notice, he was so angry.

“What are you doing here?! I told you to wait until I called you.”

“I waited but you didn’t call.” Q’s father said flatly. “How long did you expect me to wait?”

“We only found out two days ago about the crypt.”

“Crypt? You found an actual crypt? Where? You only said you found a room with witch marks. Where is the crypt?”

Q glared at his father. Of all the people to blunder in and disturb his morning with James, it seemed mocking that it was his own father. James stood near the kitchen door, leaning back against the wall. A look that was a cross between frustration and bemusement firmly on his face. 

“Dad!” Q groaned. “You have to wait. There’s a dead body down there right now.”

“Of course there are bodies down there. It’s a crypt. But after nine centuries there shouldn’t be much to identify them by.”

Q hid his face in his hand, wishing his father would shut up and listen for once.

“There is a man down there that was killed yesterday. That is why I told you to wait.”

“You said nothing about a dead man. Who is he? A tomb robber? Did he disturb anything down there? Do you think he stole something important?”

Q felt his headache coming back with a vengeance. “No, I don’t think he stole anything. He was the Connétable.”

“The Connétable is dead in the basement? What happened?” Albert asked.

“I can’t really talk about it with you until I speak to Malcom - the vingtenier.”

Just then one of Albert’s grad students came in carrying the metal stand for flood lights.

“Where do you want us to set these up, professor?”

Q’s anger bloomed brightly in his green eyes. “OUTSIDE!” he shouted. His gruffness was enough for the young woman to pale and take a step back. Albert started to protest but finally realized his son was not going to cooperate at all.

James twisted and took the metal stand from the woman. “The professor and his son need to talk. I think you and the other . . .” He paused for a moment and glanced at the wide-eyed grad student. She was petite and fine boned. She would have been pretty if she had taken a moment to apply a little effort. Nothing special. Comb her hair – wear clothes that actually fit her instead of her larger roommate. Maybe some lip rouge over those chapped lips she kept biting at. “The professor’s other assistants should wait outside.”

“But it’s cold out there. And we need to set up for the dig.” She started to list reasons when she heard Q growl and glare at her. Quickly to she changed her mind. “Oh, ah – yeah. I’ll tell the others to start measuring the exterior of the building.”

She quickly turned and fled the kitchen while James still held the metal stand. He turned and smirked at Q.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t draw any blood until I return.”

He picked up the stand and left, while Albert looked back at his son. “What did he mean by that?”

“It means, I’m expected to control myself when my own father can’t seem to be bothered to do so.”

Albert huffed and slapped his hand down on the tabletop. “Don’t you realize how important this is to me?”

“Of course I realize, Dad. That is why I called you when I found the symbols. I only asked you to wait. I mean Martha doesn’t even know you’re here and you want me to give you permission to go digging around in her basement?”

Fluster, Albert balked. “Well, no, but . . .”

“Exactly. And we have the authorities to deal with. There is a murder that needs to be investigated. And there’s Norman . . .” Q trailed off. He realized he had said too much.

“Norman antiquities are my area of expertise. Who else would you ask for help regarding such things?”

Q was grateful his father didn’t catch his mistake. Suddenly the wide-eyed grad student rushed into the room.

“Professor, the police are here! He’s arresting . . . ah the other man – gentleman. The blonde!”

“Oh for the love of . . .” Q stomped out of the kitchen and towards the front door.

Malcom and James were staring each other down. Martha was standing off to the side. She looked terrible. It didn’t look like she had slept in days. Her skin was swallow and dark circles filled in under her eyes.

Q rushed towards her. “Darling.” He wrapped his arms around her, wincing slightly as his bandaged arm pressed against her back.

“Ricky, what is going on?” She glanced around at the grad students and the equipment spread in front of her house.

“My father. What else? He showed up here this morning – in a helicopter no less. Ready to start investigating the crypt.”

Malcom turned and snapped. “Has he disturbed the crime scene?”

“No, Malcom. Frédéric is where we left him, and it’s about bloody time you get him out of there.”

“Well, I couldn’t last night – the storm. And your bodyguard here stole Nat’s tractor.”

Q shook his head and waved Malcom away. He just wanted a moment to carefully break the news to Martha that her brother was the one trying to scare her out of her house.

“Just get him out of here. And take my father and his students with you when you go.” Q said.

“I’m not going to be told what to do by you.”

Q had finally had enough. He tipped his head up and narrowed his eyes firmly on Malcom.

“You received a call yesterday regarding Bond, did you not?”

“Yes.” Malcom said confused as to why that would matter.

“Let’s assume I know the content of that call. And what was said to you not only about your future employment but also your status regarding freedom versus incarceration.” Q’s eyes bored into the other man. 

“I . . . you can’t have that much power.” Malcom said meekly.

“You don’t want to test me.” Q growled. “You will find yourself wanting.”

Malcom had a difficult time swallowing. His mouth had become dry and he felt the world starting to crush down on him.

“I . . . yes, sir.”

“Alright. First, get Frédéric out of the basement so Professor Bishop can begin his survey of the crypt. Second, arrest the men on the sailboat that Frédéric said were smugglers.” Q started ticking off jobs to Malcom.

“Why?”

“Because they are smugglers. And they murdered Frédéric.” Q said coldly.

Suddenly, Malcom’s expression hardened and he leaned forward. “Are you certain?”

“They were here last night and tried to kill Bond and me. They confessed to us that they killed Frédéric.”

Malcom nodded his head and took off quickly. Q turned to Martha. He took a moment to rub his hands down her arms.

“I have something to tell you, darling. Something very bad and it will be difficult for you but I’m here and I will help you through this.”

“What is it, Ricky? I don’t know if there is much more I can take?”

Q pulled her into his arms and gave her a hug.

“But you will. You’ll be able to take it and you will come through to the other side. I know you will. I know you.”

Q leaned back and looked into Martha’s eyes. There were tears already gathering there. He knew there were more tears to come.

“Last night, James and I found out who has been faking the haunting here. We spoke to him.”

“The French smugglers?” she asked.

“Someone who was helping the smugglers. Someone we both know. Or thought we knew.”

With that, Q led his cousin into her house and told her the truth of her brother all that had happened. He was able to do it because James was there with him. It was the mission. And they had completed it together.


	17. The Final Clue

Q stood in the doorway looking down at his cousin. Martha was laying on her bed – curled up under a patchwork quilt, sleeping. It had been a difficult conversation between the two of them. Q explained it had been Martha’s own brother who had been trying to frighten her out of her house. That he had faked his death to hurt his parents and tried to kill Q and Bond.

Martha took the information as one would expect. She shouted then cried; slammed her fists on the tabletop. At first she rejected the idea her brother was responsible, but finally said she believed Q.

James had stood guard over the two of them. Keeping Albert and his students from interrupting the difficult conversation. Glaring repeatedly at Q’s father until James went ahead and showed the man how to get into the basement. Albert and his team quickly disappeared into the crypt, carrying their equipment and hadn’t reemerge as of yet.

Q watched over Martha as she drifted off to sleep. Emotionally drained from all that had happened over the past few days.

Q closed the door to her bedroom and walked down the hall. As he turned towards the stairs, he saw a figure standing on the landing. For a brief second, he thought it was the ghost of his grandmother again. His heart thudded hard in his chest as a spike of adrenaline coursed through him. He gasped and grabbed the railing. But it was James waiting for him. Watching as Q caught himself and then slowly walked down the steps.

“Malcom called.” James said.

“Oh, are we to be expecting to be arrested again?” Q said as he stepped closer.

“No, to his great disappointment. But he did get the men on the sailboat. There were the same smugglers that Frédéric had chased off the island last year. They were the ones who had offered to buy Martha’s house a few months ago. Apparently Norman told them about the caves and the hidden rooms under the house. They thought it would be a great place to hide their contraband until they could get into England.”

“And Norman? Was he with them?” Q asked. He stepped down off the last stair and stood close to Bond.

“No, he’s dead.”

“What!? How?!” Q reached out and grasped James’ arm.

“He fell off La Coupée during the storm. The wind must have knocked him off balance and he tripped or something. He hit his head on a rock.”

“Oh, my God.” Q felt sick. “Poor Martha.”

James wrapped an arm around Q’s waist and pulled the man closer. “I hate to be a pragmatist but it’s probably for the better. She won’t have to acknowledge him. He was dead before and he is dead now.”

“What a horrible Christmas.” Q sighed as he leaned heavy into James.

“I promise to make it up to you next year.”

Q tipped his head back and looked into James’ smug expression.

“Next year? Will I have to wait that long?”

James smug face shifted into something more dangerous and seductive. “Not at all, Quartermaster. I would be more than happy to improve your holiday right now.”

James cupped Q’s face and turned him so their lips matched up perfectly. James’ touch was firm and direct. Possessive and intense. Q could feel his knees actually weaken from the man’s skills at kissing.

_‘If this is how he kisses, I don’t know if I’ll survive shagging him.’_ Q moaned to himself.

He leaned into James and dragged his fingers through Bond’s short blonde hair.

“AUDRIC! AUDRIC!” Albert Bishop shouted as he ran through the house.

Q’s body slummed as James growled. “I’m going to lock him the fucking basement.”

James refused to let go of Q’s body as Albert rushed out into the hallway.

“Audric, where are you?! You won’t believe this!” Albert spun around looking in the various rooms. He twisted and saw James and Q standing on the landing above him. Apparently the close proximity of the two men in each other’s arms did not register with the man. “Audric, come quick. We found . . . oh, I can’t believe it . . . we found . . .” Albert gasped.

“You found what?” Q snapped at his father.

“We found it!”

Albert didn’t wait for his son to follow him. He took off running to the basement. James and Q glanced at each other then Bond waved his hand in a gesture of _‘You first’_.

In exasperation, Q rolled his eyes and headed off after his father. James following close behind.

The crypt was flooded with light from the various work lamps that Albert and his students had set up. With the light, the room took on a more spacious and regal appearance. There were the three vaults with their carved stone lids. One vault was open and the students were all gazing into it.

“What is it?” Q asked as he stepped closer.

“The vault – the inscription was wrong.” Albert said.

“The inscription? What are you talking about?”

Q looked down and read the raised letters and words around the bottom edge of the stone vault.

_To the glory of God and England Frobisher_

Q looked confused. “Martin Frobisher died five hundred years after this church was built. And he is buried in London. Why does he have a grave here?”

“Look inside.” Albert whispered.

Q and James stepped closer. Inside the stone vault were what appeared to be round metal disks. There were also remains of swords and stout metal tubes.

Q blinked and moved closer, reaching in. His fingertips dragged down the tubes and he could feel the cold metal beneath years of accumulated dirt. He carefully lifted it out. A ‘S-curved’ piece of metal was connected to the tube and a wooden stock.

“Flintlocks.” Q whispered.

James stepped forward and reached in an picked up one of the metal disks. His thumb and forefinger held it tight as he wiped it clean. The gold shone out brightly.

“There really was a pirate treasure. And no one knew about it.” Q said in astonishment.

“What do mean there really was a treasure? Is there some story about this? Some island lore?” Albert asked.

Q smiled. “No, Grandmere told me.”

Albert looked astonished. “Your grandmother? She died when you were a baby. You couldn’t remember anything she said to you.”

Q smiled brightly but didn’t answer his father. “How much do you think there is here?”

“There are hundreds of coins, maybe a thousand. And the weapons are valuable too.”

“Do you think that Norman knew about this?” Bond asked.

“No, if he did he would have stolen it years ago. If anyone in the family had known, they would have taken it.” Q said

“Then it’s Martha’s.” Bond said.

“IT BELONGS TO ENGLAND!” Albert shouted.

Q rolled his eyes again and carefully put the flintlock musket back down. “Yes, Dad. We know that. But Martha will receive a monetary reward for the treasure. It could be worth millions for her.”

Q looked around the room again. He thought for moment he could see Norman standing beside the pillar like he had the night before. He wondered what Norman would say if he knew he was mere feet away from millions of pounds. How different the night would have gone? Or not different at all.

“We’ll leave you to do what you do best, Dad. I’ll go wake up Martha and tell her she is rich and doesn’t need to worry about selling the farm now.”

Q and James walked back up the stairs and into the kitchen. Once alone, James grabbed Q’s arm and twisted him around and pulled him into a searing kiss.

“You didn’t comment on the idea of us spending more holidays together – alone.” James’s kisses trailed down Q’s jaw line.

“No I didn’t, but I don’t want to wait a year. I would be most happy to spend New Year’s with you.”

“Oh?”

Q could hear the smile in James’ voice.

“You mentioned something about a warm beach?” Q held up the gold coin he had taken from Frédéric’s hand.

James smiled and held up the coin he had palmed from the vault. “I’ll bring the suntan lotion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there really was a ghost. I hope you all enjoyed the story. I wanted it be done by Christmas but best laid plans and all. Thank you for your support and encouragement. It always means so much.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcomed and enjoyed.


End file.
